


Harry Potter and the Forsaken’s Ascension

by ACI100



Series: Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Competent Harry Potter, Fem Voldemort, Female Voldemort (Harry Potter), Gray Harry, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter Has a Twin, Independent Harry, Intelligent Harry, Potential James Bashing, Potter Twins, Powerful Harry, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Politics, WBWL, light Dumbledore Bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 150,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23149174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACI100/pseuds/ACI100
Summary: AU: Voldemort had no idea what she was starting when she attacked the Potters on Halloween night. Not only did she create a living legend in Charlus Potter, The Boy Who Lived, but she touched the life of another just as deeply.Harry Potter grew up abused and alone and unlike his brother, he quickly had to learn to fend for himself. Abuse changes people on both a physical and psychological level, so when Harry Potter showed up at Hogwarts just a little bit different to how people may have expected, they really ought not to have been surprised. They should not have asked themselves what had happened, they should have asked themselves what would possibly happen next.WBWL, Slytherin Harry, Fem Voldemort, Grey Harry.
Series: Harry Potter and the Ashes of Chaos [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664050
Comments: 202
Kudos: 1053
Collections: Finished111





	1. Prologue: The Kiss of Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
> 
> **If you enjoy this story and would like to support me directly, I now have a P A T R E O N page! You are by no means obligated to support me, but for those generous enough to do so, you will be receiving Patron exclusive benefits!**
> 
>   
>  [ACI100’s Patreon](https://Patreon.com/ACI100)  
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_**October 31, 1981  
Godric's Hollow  
10:46 PM** _

"Lily, it's her, run! Take the twins and go! I'll hold her off!"

Lily wanted to protest, but she knew it was the only hope for her two sons, the two things she loved more than life itself. Quickly, she scooped up the both of them and rushed up the stairs, barricading herself in the room above as she cast every locking and protective ward she knew upon the already barricaded door.

Meanwhile, downstairs, James felt the wards crumble as the front door swung leisurely open, admitting Lady Voldemort herself. She was unnaturally tall, standing several inches taller than James, who was almost six feet tall himself. She was slim, with an angelic face and long dark hair that fell down her back. Her blue eyes shone in the light as she stepped inside, looking as if she were doing nothing more strenuous than walking the dog on a Saturday morning.

"Good evening, Lord Potter," she greeted, even going as far as to politely shut the door behind her.

James snarled and slashed his wand. A stunner exploded from the end of the implement, crackling across the room like a bolt of lightning. The magic in the air was palpable and for a moment, James thought for sure that Voldemort would fall. Instead, she merely waved her hand dismissively in the air, causing the spell to fly off course and smash into the far wall. James made to chain several more spells together, but he wasn't fast enough. With a hand gesture that looked much like the swatting of a fly, James flew backwards, smashing hard into the wall and slumping to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Back upstairs, Lily heard a loud crash and could only hope for the best. Moments later, she heard slow, leisurely footsteps as she felt something immensely powerful slam against her wards. She cried out, doing everything in her power to hold them together, but it was not enough.

The explosion of magic caused by the collapse of her wards blew apart the physical barrier, sending Lily's wand flying, and in stepped the Dark Lady herself. What horrified Lily perhaps above all else was the fact that Voldemort didn't even appear to be carrying a wand. She had bested James wandlessly!

"Good evening, Lady Potter." Voldemort's greeting practically mirrored the one she had given James, but of course, Lily was unaware of this.

"Please, not my children! Take me, kill me instead, but spare them!"

Voldemort simply shook her head. "You and I are both well aware that is not an option. I give you two choices, for you have no wand and no way of even attempting to defend yourself or your twins. You can step aside and allow me to strike down your children, in which case I shall allow both you and your husband to walk away unharmed. Tell Dumbledore, tell the Ministry. Do whatever you like; the rest of your life is yours to do with as you please.

"Or, continue to oppose me now, knowing that your opposition will do nothing for your children, who would die in spite of your sacrifice."

"Go to hell!" Lily snarled, getting to her feet once more after being thrown to the floor due to the magical backlash of her wards being shattered.

"Lady Potter, this is your final warning."

"I will never let you hurt my children!"

Lily thrust her hand forward, sending a wall of flames rocketing towards the very taken aback looking visage of Voldemort. They engulfed her and Lily almost cried out in joy. That was before they were snuffed out as suddenly as they had appeared and before Lily could do so much as look surprised, Voldemort's wand was aimed for the first time.

"Avada Kedavra."

Lily made to dodge, but her eyes widened in shock. Her only thought before her body became enshrouded in green light was that she had never seen a spell move so fast.

As her body hit the floor, the two boys in the crib behind her reacted for the first time. One of them began to cry, clearly uncertain as to the origin of the bright light, and doubtlessly wondering why his mother had fallen. This boy would grow up to be the spitting image of his father, with dark messy hair and warm hazel eyes.

The other boy also reacted, though he did so in a very different way. He put his small hands on the top of the crib and pulled himself to his feet, wobbling a bit as he did so. Instead of crying, he simply looked curiously up at Voldemort. His green eyes almost seemed to glow in the darkness, and Emily Riddle was reminded all too well of the curse that had just left her wand. She could sense an odd aura emanating from the green-eyed boy in particular, though the other child clearly possessed it as well. There was something different about him though, something that she could not quantify through words or thoughts.

Carefully, Voldemort stepped forward, scooping the green-eyed child up into her arms and inspecting him with genuine curiosity, trying to feel the magic around him as best she could. It was lively, even at his age. It seemed to cling to him as if it were a group moths being drawn to an open flame.

"Shhh," she whispered, softly stroking his raven hair in an effort to calm him. "It will be quick, I promise. Such a waste, you could have been such an ally, or perhaps even a worthy challenger. But no, the prophecy had different ideas for you, didn't it?" Gently, Voldemort placed a kiss on the head of the boy before lowering him back into the crib, straightening up with genuine regret.

She raised her wand again, taking aim at the green-eyed child. Just as she did so, the other boy sprang up next to his twin, trying to shove him out of the way as he too looked at her.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The jet of green light left her wand and Voldemort would never know which of the boys it struck, for a second later, she felt pain like she had never imagined, pain beyond belief as she knew, somehow, that the curse had failed. She felt as if she were literally being ripped from her body, and only a moment later did she realize that was exactly what had happened. Her only cognitive thought through the haze of fury and agony was to escape this place. To run far, far away from the Aurors, from James Potter and most of all, from Dumbledore as she awaited one of her loyal followers to find her.

_**Later that night...** _

With a crack like a gunshot in the night, Peter Pettigrew appeared in front of the cottage in which his best friends lived. He saw that the cottage was in ruins, and if truth was to be told, he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that. It looked as if it had been burning but had been recently extinguished. He had come at once, come as soon as his other work had allowed. As soon as his old friend, Evan Rosier, had contacted Peter, speaking of how his mark had burned more painfully than ever before.

That wasn't the part that concerned Peter.

The part that concerned Peter was the mark itself. Rosier had stuck his arm in the Floo for Peter to get a good glance, and it appeared as if the mark itself had faded from a vivid black to a dull grey on his arm, now resembling a muggle tattoo that had been exposed to the sun for years on end.

Peter was no fool. He was no Merlin with a wand, but he had always understood magic. He thought he knew what he would find at Godric's Hollow, but he had to be certain. He had to know what to do in order to proceed.

Peter quickly rushed into the home, keeping one hand on his wand. When he entered the room, even he was surprised at what he saw.

James was standing in the middle of it, looking for all the world like he was completely and utterly lost. When the door opened, James whirled around, his wand snapping up for a second before he saw Peter, and the man watched the fight literally seep out of his best friend as he seemed to physically deflate. "Oh, Wormy, it's you."

"J-James?" Peter asked, letting his surprise flow easily through his voice. "James, what happened?"

"Voldemort! She-she came." He then looked at him for the first time, and Peter could now see how bloodshot the man's eyes were. He had only seen James cry once, and that had been the night when his mother and father had met their own ends at the hand of the Dark Lady. "L-L-Lily, she's d-d-d-dead."

Peter blinked several times, staggering backwards as best he could manage and slumping against the wall, letting his very real exhaustion at other events that night seep through him. "No," he moaned quietly, looking at James with wide watery eyes, seeming to the other man as if he were imploring him to pull the plug on whatever horrible excuse for a joke he was playing.

James only nodded solemnly. "The h-h-healers are looking at them."

"Looking at whom?"

"The twins," said James, prompting Peter to become legitimately surprised for the first time.

"They-they're alive? Both of them?"

James nodded. "I'm waiting for the call to be briefed on what they think happened. I-I was waiting here for Dumbledore and I couldn't just l-leave-" his voice trailed off, but Peter didn't need him to finish. A split second later, an owl flew through the open front door, depositing a letter in James's hands. He took a deep breath and opened it, peering at it intently as his eyes went wide.

"What is it?" Peter asked, doing his utmost best to sound comforting and concerned.

"That's impossible," breathed James, his voice completely flat.

"James."

"Charlus, he-he survived the killing curse."

This time, Peter's mouth really did fall open, his mind going completely blank with shock. "W-what?"

"He survived the killing curse. They think that's what destroyed her."

Peter couldn't believe it. He was not willing to allow himself to be certain of The Dark Lady's defeat. Peter always had to plan for every outcome, especially in drastic situations. If he planned for a world where the Dark Lady was no more and she returned… well, that would be a rather dangerous world for Peter to live in. At the very least, it appeared, for now, that she had been vanquished. Vanquished nonetheless, by the very curse that had been supposed to bring her the ultimate victory she had desired for so long.

"He'll be a hero," Peter whispered, the gears turning inside of his brain. "He'll be famous, James. Every child in our world will know his name. They'll write books about him, they'll fawn over him, they'll bow to him."

"I don't know if I can do it, Wormy. I don't know if I can raise both of them without her. Especially not now with Charlus being-being-" his voice died again, and Peter placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Of course you can, Prongs," Peter assured him. "The Dark Lady is gone, there's no pressure."

"On that, I am afraid we must agree to disagree," said a familiar voice from the entrance, though it was graver than Peter had ever heard it before.

"Albus?"

"James," Dumbledore said heavily, "I am so, so sorry for your loss tonight. Only a small amount of people in our world can imagine the pain of loss. Alas, an even smaller number can truly appreciate the agony of losing someone whom you truly loved."

"Albus," Peter said carefully, trying his best to hide how interested he truly was, making sure that his Occlumency measures were firmly in place. "You said you disagree. With what exactly?"

Dumbledore sighed, looking pityingly at James before he spoke. "Lady Voldemort is, I am afraid, very far from finished once and for all."

James's head snapped up and he looked as if he had just been slapped. "But her body, it's upstairs-"

"Oh, I do not believe she poses any threat at this time, but I do not believe she is gone for good. She is, in what sense or form I admittedly do not know, very much alive. Likely very weak, likely without any essence of her powers, at least for now, but I am almost certain that she is alive."

"How?" asked James, his voice now carrying none of his earlier sorrow.

"Severus. His mark has faded, though it is still very much present. If Lady Voldemort had perished for good, such a mark tied so closely to her would no longer exist at all. Of that at least, I am certain."

"Lily died for nothing." When James bit out these words, his voice suddenly carrying an odd note of danger.

"For goodness sakes, no!" Dumbledore exclaimed, his own eyes welling slightly as he stepped towards James, placing a firm, comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "Lily died in the only way a mother ever wishes to die — protecting her children, ensuring that their lives would not end so soon after that of her own."

"W-what do you mean?"

"Sacrificial magic is one of the most powerful branches of the thing itself, rivalled only perhaps, by intent and love. Lily had all three of these things tonight, and in combination, I believe that they served as the catalyst for your sons' survival. I also believe they will provide the child of prophecy with the weapons needed to finish Lady Voldemort once and for all."

'Prophecy?' Peter mused, internally.

"It's Charlus," James said flatly. "The Healers think he survived the killing curse." James looked to Dumbledore. "What do we do? Should we train him? Prepare him for when she does come back?"

"Perhaps. For now, all you can do is assure both him and his brother Harry that their mother's sacrifice was not made in vain. They should know what happened to their mother, and they should know what she would want. A world free of prejudice and revolutions. A world in which her sons could grow up safe and sound. A world where Lady Voldemort poses no threat at all."

"I don't think I can do it," James admitted, echoing his earlier sentiment. "Albus, I don't think I can train Charlus, keep him a decent human being with all the attention and bullshit he's going to have to deal with and still raise Harry decently." He shook his head. "At best he'll hate his brother for all the attention he gets, and that'll be before I have to start preparing Charlus. At worst, he'll be neglected, not on purpose, but I don't want to chance it. I'll have to spend too much time with Charlus."

"James," Dumbledore said softly, "never underestimate the power of love. Those driven by it can do incredible things, things they would have never thought possible."

If James was more perceptive, perhaps he would have noticed the same thing that Peter did, a rather odd, rather brief flash of… something in the old wizard's eyes.

"I-I don't know Albus," moaned James. "I-I really don't think I can."

Dumbledore sighed in what appeared to be sadness; he knew that James's mind was already set. When he next spoke, his voice was heavier than ever. "I cannot force you to raise your son, James. I can advise you to do it, but I cannot force you. There are, of course, others who would gladly take him as their own, but what of his heirship? What would you do about such a dilemma?"

"I would welcome him back into the family when he's older," James said without hesitation. "When she's gone for good, maybe even earlier. Maybe when they're Hogwarts age; — I don't know, but I don't think I can give him the life he deserves, Albus, but I don't want him to hate me."

That was when the gears clicked in Peter's mind, a plan coming into form that the Dark Lady herself would have been proud of. "Well, I think the solution's obvious," said Peter, sounding every bit as grave as Dumbledore. When he received nothing but puzzled looks, he continued. "If he's raised in the magical world it will cause problems, so why not have him raised in the muggle world? Sure, he might still resent you when he finds out the truth, but at least he would be at an age where he could see reason." He paused as if to think. "Does Lily not have a sister? Could you not leave Harry with her? I'm sure she'd take good care of him. He is family, after all."

James shook his head. "I'm not sure, Wormy. Lily's sister was always jealous, even spiteful of her magic."

"I imagine a combination of time and the shock of losing her sister will be a strong motivator for Petunia to turn over a new leaf," Dumbledore theorized. "Peter's plan is viable. He could be protected there, protected by wards forged directly from the intent of his mother's sacrifice. Wards that I doubt even Lady Voldemort herself could penetrate." Dumbledore scratched his beard. "He would be raised by family, something that would only play into the magic protecting him."

James sighed. "I s-suppose it's settled then?" Both of the other two men nodded, both smiling internally for very opposite reasons, though neither showed the expression openly on their faces.

_**November 3, 1981**  
The Ministry of Magic  
Courtroom 10  
9:00 AM _

The members of the Wizengamot were buzzing like feral bees as they awaited the beginning of the most ground-breaking trial that any of them had ever sat in on. From his spot at the podium, Albus Dumbledore wondered very much if he was going to have to stop any of them from cursing those on trial.

The Minister, Millicent Bagnold, cleared her throat, snapping Dumbledore out of his stupor and causing him to bang his gavel hard on the podium to call for order.

"We must pass the motion to commence this most urgent meeting," he said. The usually present twinkle in his eyes was absent, and his voice was softer and less jovial than any in the courtroom had heard it before. "All in favour?" Every wand in the room rose into the air and lit up as one. "Very well, let the emergency Wizengamot meeting of November the third, nineteen-eighty-one commence." He turned to his left, peering at a rather livid looking Barty Crouch. "As Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I believe it is you who shall take over from here. To you, Bartemius Crouch, I concede the chair."

Crouch nodded stiffly and stood, his jaw clenched tightly as he barked, "Bring them in!" to the two Junior Aurors guarding the doors. One of them disappeared for a moment, and when he re-entered the room, he did so leading a procession of beings.

Three wizards were led into the room, each having one of their arms clasped tightly by a tall, hooded figure that emanated an ethereal chill and a sense of dread that could not be ignored. Aurors in the plural flanked the procession, leading them into the circle.

Two of the wizards being led in by the dementors looked rather similar to one another. They were both tall and lean, well-muscled, but in the way a long-distance runner might be. Their hair was short and dark brown, and their dark, almost black eyes roamed casually over the audience, completely unphased by the waves of hatred that were being directed their way.

In the middle was another man. He too was tall and built in much the same way as the others, though he was more well-muscled than the other two and not quite as lean. He had rugged, aristocratic features with high cheekbones, pale grey eyes and long, black hair that flowed casually down his shoulders. He, like the others, seemed unphased, even going as far as to smile lazily up at those in the stands.

The three of them were led forward and forced to sit in chairs that quickly bound their wrists.

"May we begin?" Crouch asked, his eyes narrowing upon the three as he glanced towards Dumbledore, who nodded.

"Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange!" he thundered. "You are being charged with affiliations to the Dark Lady who went by the alias of Lady Voldemort." Most in the courtroom flinched. Crouch, on the other hand, did not so much as pause. "On top of this heinous crime, you both are accused of the torture of Franklin and Alice Longbottom; an act that sent them to the long term care wing of St. Mungo's, where they are unlikely to ever return from." His voice dripped with venom that he made no attempt to withstrain, and many in the audience jeered at the three prisoners. "How do you plead?"

"Guilty," both men answered, not seeming to be overly bothered by the fact.

"Very well," Crouch declared with a predatorily, "all in favour of life sentences in Azkaban?" Every last wand in the crowd lit up, and Crouch glared down at them as Dumbledore banged his gavel, making the motion official. He shot a look towards the Aurors. "Make sure that they are taken to the high-security wing of Azkaban." The Aurors nodded, and with the help of several dementors, the two were led off, ignoring the jeers of the crowd as they left. Both of them were glaring up at Crouch with a look that seemed to promise retribution.

"Sirius Orion Black!" Crouch bellowed once the crowd had died down, causing them to rise to new levels of anger. "You are being charged with the same crimes as the Lestrange brothers, with the exception of the Longbottoms' torture. You are also being charged for the murder of Marline Mackinnon and thirteen muggles in the streets of London on November the first, a crime that also violates the International Statute of Secrecy. In addition, it is believed that you are responsible for betraying the location of Lord James Charlus Potter and his wife and children to the Dark Lady, how do you plead?"

Sirius Black just sat in the chair and did the last thing that any in the large chamber expected him to do. He threw back his head and let out an echoing, bark-like laugh that took the entire courtroom by surprise.

"Is that all, Crouch?" he asked arrogantly, shaking his head with what seemed to be exasperation. "If I'm going to Azkaban, at least give me full credit for the work I've done to get there!"

The crowd began to stand, furious at the pride that seemed to accompany his insinuations but Dumbledore raised his wand, conjuring a silver dome of energy around Black to protect him. He also shot off several fireworks into the air, forcing the crowd to reluctantly fall silent.

"And," asked Crouch, seeming to spit every word at Black with murderous intentions, "what else is it that you have done, Black?!"

"I was no mere servant of the Dark Lady. I was her honoured lieutenant, the one and only person who she trusted wholeheartedly." The crowd was screaming obscenities at him now, but Black merely laughed again. "Oh, and you think Malfoy and his lackeys were her valued followers? Valued above me?" He laughed once more. "Malfoy and his puppets served The Dark Lady because of me." He smiled that same, arrogant smile. "No amount of money can protect you from the Imperius Curse."

"Are you claiming to have placed Lucius Malfoy under the Imperius Curse to serve the Dark Lady?"

"You sell me short again, Crouch," laughed Black, looking positively gleeful now. "Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Macnair and," he smiled predatorily up at Crouch, much the way the man had done to his companions, "Barty Crouch… Junior."

The courtroom broke into mayhem as several curses did fly towards Black, though they all sparked harmlessly off Dumbledore's shield. It took far more fireworks this time to have the court under control and Crouch was almost past coherence now, so Dumbledore himself spoke, his voice shaking with rage in a way that nobody had ever heard it do before.

"Those in favour of sentencing the accused to life in Azkaban?" Again, every wand rose into the sky. "Motion passed!" He glared in a most uncharacteristic way down at Black, hardly daring to believe the man he had trusted and allowed into his order would commit such despicable crimes. "Take him away!"

"You think this is over, old man?" cackled Black as he was dragged to his feet, hardly caring that the dementors were gliding towards him. "This is far from over. The Dark Lady shall return and your pathetic reign over Britain will be over. You'll be her first victim." He sneered. "First after the Potter brat, of course."

He said no more, choosing instead to laugh openly as he was led from the court by the Aurors and guards of Azkaban, leaving a near-riot in the courtroom behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter References:**
> 
> **Chapter 1: Prologue.**
> 
> **Chapters 2-18: Year 1: The Forsaken's Ascension.**
> 
> **Chapters 19-? Book 2: The Sacrificial Slytherin.**
> 
> **For future reference, speech will be denoted by double quotations, internal dialogue by single quotations, parseltongue via bold lettering and in-story text, alternate languages or words I would like to emphasize with italics.**
> 
> **I'm sure all of you are smart enough to figure that out, but I thought I would lay it out right here.**
> 
> **This AN is ridiculously long, but future AN's will not be. Most at the end of a chapter will just feature a short comment or two and the release date for the next chapter.**
> 
> **You will have to deal with Harry and the others being very advanced for their age, both in terms of dialogue and maturity as well. There is no way I can write a 100% accurate depiction of an eleven-year-old, as I literally spend none of my day to day life with anybody within even a few years of that age. And quite frankly, trying to portray that in a perfectly realistic manner would greatly limit my options. I figured the best policy would be me being upfront and honest about that.**
> 
> **I want to get one other thing out of the way right now.**
> 
> **Just because I have labelled this as a "WBWL Story" does not mean that Harry is the BWL. It doesn't mean that he's not either, but the whole BWL matter is actually rather ambiguous in this story and will not be revealed until MUCH LATER, though I will of course be foreshadowing along the way. I simply chose to label the story as I did because it does follow many of the tropes commonly associated with WBWL stories, even if I will have a rather different spin on them in time. This story will certainly total at well over a million words when all is said and done, so needless to say I have a lot planned.**
> 
> **Building on that, Charlus will not be an incompetent, hyperbolized personification of all that fanon has labelled as the worst of Gryffindor house. He will have a rough introduction, but I am planning for a lot of character development where he is concerned, and his arc will be a rather wild ride to the finish.**
> 
> **Thirdly, I will be trying to write most characters fairly in character, at least when viewing their mannerisms. Their intentions may be different, as there is a lot more in play here than in the books, but my goal is to have Dumbledore read like Dumbledore, Snape read like Snape (sort of) and so on, so forth.**
> 
> **This story will be paced very slowly. If you do not like that, fair enough. But please do not complain about it in the reviews just because you don't like it. If you think a scene I wrote off put the flow, or anything of a similar manner, of course bring it up. The first five or so chapters of this are inevitably a bit cliche. I do intend to subvert a lot of tropes, but to do so, I need to establish them first. I promise it does pick up after that though. If you don't like this fic by the end of year 1, that is probably a good place to give it up.**
> 
> **As for updates, this story is currently updated every Saturday at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
> 
> **Before I sign off, I wanted to shoutout the fics that have had the most influence on this one, so here we go:**
> 
> **Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin by The Sinister Man**   
>  **Limpieza de Sangre by TheEndless7**   
>  **Harry Potter and the International Triwizard Tournament by Salient91**   
>  **Harry Potter and the Boy Who Lived by The Santi**   
>  **A Cadmean Victory by DarknessEnthroned**   
>  **The Mind Arts by Wu Gang**   
>  **Sarcasm & Slytherin by sunmoonandstars**   
>  **Departure From the Diary by TendraelUmbra**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **Additional Author's Note:**
> 
> **I am going through the early chapters of this fic and doing some much-needed revision with the help of some lovely people from my Discord server as well as my beta Fezzik.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	2. Beginnings and Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
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_**July 1, 1982  
The Wizengamot Chambers  
5:47 PM** _

After what had been a very long day of promises, debates and political manoeuvring, Albus Dumbledore could do nothing but sit back with resignation as he watched the display in front of him unfold. Finally, all of the speeches had been given, questions posed, and answers provided, leaving only the actual vote remaining.

He’d been rather disappointed when Millicent Bagnold, the current Minister for Magic, had announced that she wouldn’t run for office for a third time. Dumbledore could hardly blame her. She had been the Minister for perhaps the ten most trying years the country had experienced in centuries. Despite that, Dumbledore really did wish she would have run again. She hadn’t been blessed with a sparkling reputation as a result of the war, but in actuality, there had been nothing she could have done once everything had kicked off. It was true that Albus resented her initial reluctance in acknowledging Voldemort as a true threat, but to the woman's credit, once she acted, she had done as well as anyone could have hoped for.

Now, Wizarding Britain stood at a crossroads, as the battle for Minister had been whittled down to two candidates.

One was a fairly young man by the name of Daniel Shafiq. He was the consummate politician; very passionate, well-spoken, and opinionated. On the surface, Shafiq appeared as if he would be the perfect man for the job. Dumbledore knew better though, as did most people in the room. Shafiq had been a member of the Conservative faction ever since he’d joined the Wizengamot and though no one outright said it, Albus, like most others present, knew that Shafiq was firmly under the thumb of the leaders of his faction. People like Lucius Malfoy and Tiberius Nott, for instance.

On the opposite side stood an older man who had been changed by the war. Barty Crouch Sr. was in many ways the opposite of his younger counterpart. He didn’t fit the typical mould of a politician, yet in the eye of the public, Crouch seemed to be the perfect candidate. 

He’d been Head of the DMLE for the near entirety of the war and in juxtaposition to Minister Bagnold, had been a firm believer in taking action against both Voldemort and her followers, something that made him a hero to much of Magical Britain. The problem, at least in Albus's mind, was the actions themselves. Crouch was ruthless and stubborn and, in Dumbledore's opinion, a bit too much of each. Once the man gained power, it would be difficult, if not impossible to convince him to support any path that he had laid out.

Usually the Liberals, the Conservatives, and the Neutrals would each put forth a Ministerial candidate. At present, the tension between the Liberals and Conservatives- casually referred to as the Light and the Dark- was so high that the Neutrals abstained from selecting a candidate as they wanted nothing to do with the current political landscape. Thus, for the first time in over a century, there were only two candidates put forth by the Wizengamot for the votes of the general public. This meant that for Albus Dumbledore, far from the first time in that century, he felt that he was again in a lose-lose situation.

_**June 29, 1991  
No. 4 Privet Drive  
7:23 AM** _

It was with a great deal of stiffness that Harry exited his cupboard, trying not to make a face as he stepped into the light for the first time in… he wasn’t even sure how long. Of all the miraculous things that had ever happened around him, from the colouration of his teacher’s hair three years ago, to the way his hair had grown overnight years before that, to even his inexplicable appearance on a school roof, Harry thought the incident at the zoo may have been the most mind-boggling one yet.

He’d known he was different for some time, known that his emotions, and later even his intent could cause miraculous things to happen around him, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined he could do something so outlandish as speaking to animals.

Yes, Harry Potter was well aware that he was different. He was a very well-read child. After all, what else was one meant to do when their alternative source of entertainment was to stare blankly up at the dark underside of the stairs? He had always been curious, and in large part, his reading had helped to sate much of that curiosity. So naturally when odd, seemingly impossible things began to happen around him, Harry’s first reaction had been to try and find what these occurrences meant and more importantly, why they were possible at all.

Try as he might, Harry had found no explanations. The closest thing his young eyes had glimpsed were references to similar such things happening in children's tales; tales he had known to be fiction from a very young age. So, Harry had turned to the next best thing, a term he’d read, and later furthered his understanding of by reading an upper-year science textbook at school while hiding from Dudley's gang in the library.

Experimenting.

He had indeed experimented, starting with his hair, since he knew it was something that he could control from experience. When he had utterly failed at any attempt at growing it out, he’d focused on smaller, more subtle changes. After a while, he had finally managed the change he sought to accomplish, that being to force his hair to lay flat; something he much preferred to its natural wild state. Upon later reflection, it was perhaps the only thing that he and his relatives agreed on. At first it had been temporary, but the more he did it the longer it lasted until, one day, he hadn’t needed to force his hair to change at all.

This had spurred him on further, as he now wondered to what extent his new gift stretched. He’d managed to turn on and off the small light in his cupboard simply by wanting it to, though that trick had taken him several months of practice before he could call upon it at will. Once, he had even managed to repair an old teapot of Aunt Petunia's he’d knocked over while running from Dudley's gang while she and Uncle Vernon were out in the garden. He’d never managed to repeat that particular feat again, though in fairness, he hadn’t spent a whole lot of time trying. 

Perhaps Harry's favourite trick was to make objects come to him of their own accord. This was difficult in the sense that he had to focus quite a bit for it to happen, but it was something that Harry found unbelievably convenient. The object had to be directly in his line of sight, something that unfortunately prevented him from bringing his glasses to himself on command in the mornings. Nevertheless, he thought it was an impressive talent.

In terms of utility, the only ability that he thought greater than summoning objects to him at will was the ability to know what those around him were thinking from a simple glance. Without much effort at all, Harry simply knew. He could sense their emotions and general thought processes on most occasions. It wasn’t mind reading — not really. He’d deduced long ago that it only truly worked with surface thoughts and images. Harry always got quite the rush from seeing these flashes just by looking someone in the eye.

Even compared to those incredible things, Harry thought speaking with animals was his most impressive feat. Even though, as with many of his previous achievements, he hadn’t fully realized what he was doing, it still topped the list. As he walked towards the kitchen, his reminiscing was halted by the pain that ran down his neck, causing him to wince slightly. He may have been small for his age, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant to be curled awkwardly in a cupboard for God knows how long.

He entered the kitchen and quickly made his way to the stove, taking over for Petunia without instruction. He had learned long ago that the fastest and easiest way to appease his relatives was to act without being asked. Petunia had woken him for the first time in what felt like ages, so logically, Harry thought it was safe to presume that she wanted something. None of the Dursleys ever did him any favours unless they wanted something from him.

That thought may have made any other ten, almost eleven-year-old child frown, sigh, or even scowl, but not Harry. He had accepted the fact many years ago, and had resigned himself to reality. No matter what he did, his treatment at the Dursleys could only improve so much. 

This had been proven rather early on when he was punished for getting better marks than Dudley. So, in an effort to avoid further repercussions, Harry had completely bombed his next examination in order to finish below his cousin. Unfortunately, this only caused the Dursleys to punish him even more harshly; this time prompting Vernon to put hands on him in retaliation for what he perceived was Harry's way of making him look like a careless guardian.

"I won’t have any of them believing that we have raised incompetent children!" Vernon had bellowed. Harry, even then, had been rather tempted to ask him why, if he was so worried about the impression that was being put out about them, he had yet to punish Dudley. Even at such a young age, he’d realized that would have been akin to suicide.

So, Harry had given up on getting low marks there and then, choosing instead to do the best he could, putting his near eidetic memory to the test. It was, in many ways, the one way he had truly been able to defy the Dursleys. After a while they had stopped punishing him for scoring higher than Dudley, seeming to accept the fact that Harry was an arrogant child who wanted only to flaunt any shred of competence he possessed. It turned out that Harry had a rather large amount of competence if his marks said anything on the matter. Vernon and Petunia had been offered the choice to put Harry into the year above several times, but they resolutely refused each and every time.

He knew he was competent. He knew that he was far more competent than most, if not any child his age he had ever met. He didn’t think he was overly arrogant though. He certainly believed himself more than capable, better than most intellectually. He certainly knew he had his other strengths, such as his knack for charming his teachers into not writing home about his mysterious exploits. He’d always been good at that, though unfortunately, the ability had never extended onto his own relatives. 

Despite that, Harry knew his limitations and had no delusions about them.

Another field he was certainly competent in was that of cooking, something his relatives had ensured at an early age. At first, he had been appalled by the injustice of such a thing. Why should a seven-year-old boy have to cook for his adult guardians? Now, he didn’t really mind. The time he spent cooking allowed him to be alone with his thoughts somewhere other than his cupboard, something that was a rarity which he cherished more than he would ever admit.

Today was no different. The time he’d spent cooking up a breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast felt like no time at all for Harry. He served the Dursleys their plates and sat himself down with his measly piece of toast, the only food remaining after Dudley had insisted on seconds.

Harry had not sat down for more than a moment when the unmistakable sound of the post sliding through the flap could be heard.

"Go get the post, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from over his newspaper, having evidently seen that Dudley had already ploughed through his second helping of breakfast, and was currently seating himself on the couch in the living room. 

"Make him get it!" Dudley retorted, gesturing vaguely in Harry's general direction as he reached for the remote on the couch which controlled Dudley's favourite thing in the whole world — the television.

"Get the post, boy!" Vernon didn’t give Harry a chance to refuse like he had done for Dudley. Harry stood, easily resisting the urge to sigh as he plastered a blank, artificial smile onto his face and made his way towards the door.

At first glance, there appeared to be nothing of interest in the pile of mail. A postcard from Vernon's sister Marge, a magazine, and a bill. Upon second glance, Harry froze, his jaw falling open in slack-jawed disbelief as he noticed the yellow envelope with vivid green handwriting that was clearly adorned with his name.

_Mr. H. J. Potter_

_The Cupboard Under The Stairs_

_No. 4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging, Surrey._

"Hurry up!" his uncle bellowed from the living room, snapping Harry from his reverie as he reflexively flinched before quickly blanking his face, something else he had become rather adept at in the last few years. 

Making up his mind, Harry slipped the piece of parchment into his pocket, his natural curiosity overriding his sense of self-preservation. He knew that his Uncle would never allow him the letter and Harry could not have found himself more intrigued as to who on earth could possibly be writing to him, or why they might want to. He had never been important. Smart and talented, yes, but unimportant. He was simply Harry. The small, quiet boy who kept to himself as his relatives did everything in their power to keep him in their shadow.

Little did small, unimposing Harry Potter know that the letter which he held in his hands would change his life forever, even if he wouldn’t get to read it for several hours due to the extensive list of chores that awaited him upon his arrival in the sitting room.

_**That night, in the cupboard under the stairs...** _

_Dear Mister Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours Sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

Harry reread the contents of the letter for the seventh time, still hardly daring to believe what lay in front of him.

There was one thought coursing through his mind over and over, seeming to be the sole component of a repetitive loop that may well never end.

It was magic; that’s how he had done it all.

Any other child would likely have scoffed or perhaps even laughed at the ridiculousness of such a letter, but not Harry. He had searched for years, tried everything he could to find how he could do the impossible things he could do and had come to no logical conclusion. That only meant that the conclusion, whatever it may be, must have its roots in something illogical. This letter, perhaps more so than anything Harry had ever encountered, fit the definition of illogical quite precisely.

He took a deep, calming breath as a rare, true smile spread across his face at the idea of magic and its possibilities. Perhaps even more exciting to him was the idea of a boarding school.

No Dursleys for ten months.

He wasn’t going to delude himself into thinking he would acquire friends. He was hardly opposed to the idea, but years of experience told Harry that such a thing was rather unlikely. Nobody ever took him seriously; no one ever became friends with him.

'Yes, but there isn't going to be your horrid oaf of a cousin to scare them all away at Hogwarts, is there?'

This thought did give him pause, but he pushed it away ruthlessly. He would not go looking for friends; that always ended in disaster. If by some lucky coincidence he managed to acquire some, all the better, but he refused to allow his hopes to rise too high. Nothing ever went well when he allowed his hopes to rise too high.

Well, he supposed that perhaps, that couldn’t be said about his first year of life.

The only thing Harry could remember at all from that first year- at least he assumed it was from the first year he’d been alive- was the sensation of something soft running through his hair, and an odd, green light so bright it was blinding. And of course, those two words. Two words that Harry now suspected may have something to do with the world in which he was entering. The first two words Harry had ever known.

Avada Kedavra.

Harry found it odd that he couldn’t remember more. His memory truly was near eidetic. He could recall, without issue, almost everything he had ever done since his arrival at Privet Drive, even having vague memories of that first day. As time progressed, his memory became more vivid, to the point that he could easily and confidently say he remembered everything that took place after his sixth birthday in vivid detail. He could recall even the most unimportant margins from hulking tomes that he’d read years earlier without issue.

One of his earlier memories with the Dursleys was of Dudley's third birthday party. Harry had tried to correct the magician that Vernon and Petunia had hired as entertainment, telling him that his Abra Kadabra was incorrect. He had got a firm reprimand from Vernon and he hadn’t left his cupboard for several days. He hadn’t been physically punished. He’d been too young at the time; that had not started until he was around six or seven.

Harry smiled bitterly at the memory, not lost in the irony that now, he very well may have been correct in his criticism. He didn’t reflect on it for long. He tried to think as little about the Dursleys as possible, even while under their roof. Instead, he waited several hours until he thought it safe to sneak out of his cupboard and found himself a piece of paper and a pen. He had become quite adept at sneaking around in his life out of pure necessity. Before he knew it, he was back in the safety of his cupboard, pen and paper in hand, and only then did he begin to write.

_Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,_

_Thank you very much for your letter. I would love to accept your invitation, but there are a few things that may stop me from doing so._

_Firstly, I didn’t know that witches or wizards existed until I read this letter, so I have no idea what to do now._

_Secondly, without getting into more detail than I’d like, my guardians definitely wouldn’t support me going off to a boarding school of any kind._

_If you have solutions to any or all of these things, please write back as soon as possible._

_I hope very much to see you on September the first._

_Yours sincerely,  
Harry Potter_

It took him two drafts, but Harry was fairly happy with how his final product had come out. It pointed out all of his issues without sugar-coating any of it, but at the same time, it didn’t give away facts he very much would like to keep to himself. He did, however, come to a startling realization upon the completion of his letter.

He had no idea how to send it

He had no idea what "we await your owl" meant, and for some reason, he doubted very much that the post office would deliver a message to a school of magic. Sighing, he rolled over on his cot, resigning himself to the fact that he would just have to come up with something tomorrow.

__**July 2, 1991**  
No. 4 Privet Drive  
8:01 AM 

Harry set the final plate of food down in front of his aunt, slumping himself down into the final chair at the table. He would be expected to clear the table and wash the dishes once the Dursleys had completed their meal. There had been nothing left today, which meant that Harry would have to wait until lunch, where his aunt would likely provide him with a piece of bread, or an apple, or something similar to tide him over until dinner. At that point, he would be expected to make enough food for the family, plus a meagre amount for himself. 

He was a bit nervous as his intense green eyes surveyed the four of them. Breakfast was almost sub-standard today, as it had been the day previous. He couldn't help it, his mind was in other, far more interesting places. He had managed to send the letter off to wherever it was going the previous morning when, to his bemusement, an owl was waiting for him out on the front lawn. The creature quickly took Harry's letter in its beak and flew off, prompting the boy in question to blink and shake his head, wondering what exactly he was getting himself into with this new world of magic and mystery. He had comforted himself rather easily, justifying that whatever he was going into, it could not be worse than where he had come from.

He was quite apprehensive about the reply. He doubted very much that he had been tricked. He had a sort of sixth sense for lies, and he didn’t think this was one. On top of that, it was, as crazy as it sounded to Harry, the best explanation he had been given thus far as to how he could do any of what he had done in his life. In spite of that, he was still quite nervous.

What if the owl just flew in through the window with a reply letter?

He would never get the letter off of his relatives and they would know exactly what he’d done. He had only been taken to the hospital once when one of Vernon's reprimands had gone too far, but this time, Harry suspected he would be staying several nights if the Dursleys found out what had transpired over the past few days.

Just then, Harry was snapped out of his reverie when the thunderous sound of a very loud knock on the front door caught his attention. Vernon, with his mouth full of French toast, grunted, gesturing for Harry to go and open the door. Harry stood, nodding to his Uncle and making his way to the door, expecting the milkman, or a salesman or someone else of similar standing. What he did not expect was whatever it was that greeted him.

The man in the door had to be between eight and ten feet tall, and he was without a doubt twice as wide and twice as thick as the average man. Even Harry, who prided himself on his emotional control, was left gaping like a fish for several seconds before, with a great effort, he managed to shake off his dazed state. Even then, he found himself at a complete and utter loss for words. Mercifully for him, he didn’t have to speak, as the giant in front of him broke the ice.

"Blimey, ‘Arry, how ye've grown in the last ten years! Last time I saw ya, I could fit ya in the palm of me hand!" The giant was beaming, positively beaming down at Harry, looking for all intents and purposes as if he’d found a long-lost treasure. Finally, surprising even himself in the process, Harry managed to find his voice.

"Um… sir, I don't mean to be rude, but… who are you?"

The giant chuckled. "Oh yeah, guess I must look like a right sight, wouldn't I?" He held out a massive hand, which Harry shook as best he could. "The name's Rubeus Hagrid, but everyone just calls me ‘agrid. I'm keeper o' grounds and keys at ‘ogwarts. Ya'll know all ‘bout ‘ogwarts, o' course!"

"Um, not exactly, Mr. Hagrid."

Hagrid blinked, looking confused. "Eh?" 

"I only just found out about Hogwarts. I read about it in the letter, but I was never told about Hogwarts or magic before that letter came."

For several seconds, the two of them stood there, blanketed by a heavy, oppressive silence. Internally, Harry thought this silence likely would have stretched on until the end of time had they not been interrupted, to his horror, by the booming voice of his uncle.

"Boy! Who is it at the door? Don't be holding them up!" Upon hearing the voice and the manner with which it addressed Harry, the man- Hagrid- growled almost animalistically as he pushed past Harry without warning, slowly and deliberately stomping his way inside.

"Sir… Hagrid!" tHarry’s heart leapt into his throat as he tried pointlessly to discourage Hagrid’s next course of action. "I'm not sure that this is the best idea!" His cries fell on deaf ears. With dread in his heart, Harry slowly and cautiously followed Hagrid into the sitting room.

"Good morning," said his uncle as he finally looked up from his magazine, "how can we-" but suddenly, his voice died in his throat as his mouth fell open in shock at the sheer magnitude of the man who stood in front of him.

"Do you mean to tell me," growled Hagrid, his voice shaking with barely contained fury as Dudley whimpered from the corner of the room, "that all this time, you've told the boy NOTHING?!" This last word escaped in a bellow. This time, even Vernon shrank back from the man's fury. Harry flinched horribly as well, but Hagrid, whose back was turned, saw nothing of that occurrence. 

Hagrid shook his great head, realizing he clearly wasn’t going to get any answers from the three Dursleys and instead turned to face Harry. "If they haven't told ya anything 'bout magic, what have they told ya about yehr parents?"

As he asked that question, Harry felt dread clasp even more tightly around his heart. He somehow knew that what he was about to say, and the response he would hear would change his life forever.

Several hours later, at a café in Diagon Alley...

Harry sat, stiff-jawed and silent, watching people bustle through the alley as he allowed the revelations of the past few hours to wash over him.

Not only was he about to enter a world of magic. Not only had the Dursleys lied about his parents, but he was entering into a world where he had a brother! If that wasn’t enough, his brother was, apparently, one of the most famous people in that magical world. Even that was not all. His brother- his twin brother, as a matter of fact- was famous for surviving a curse that was supposed to be impossible to survive and destroying the most powerful dark sorceress in a thousand years.

Despite all of that, of all the unbelievable truths that had been revealed to him, he felt as though only one truly mattered. It was the same truth that had his insides burning with the righteous flames of fury as he did everything in his power not to lash out with what he now knew to be magic. He had done so before, though not often. There was, after all, a reason that Dudley and his gang had started staying clear of Harry a little over a year ago, when odd things began to happen to them, increasing in severity until finally, they’d got the hint and left Harry well enough alone.

No, the truth that wracked his body, that rattled his mind, that made him want to destroy everything around him was, in many ways, so much smaller than many of the other secrets that had been revealed to him, but to Harry, it meant the world.

His father was alive.

Not only was his father alive, but the man had willingly left him with the Dursleys.

"Are ya okay, Harry?" Hagrid asked, twisting his massive hands in evident concern once the silence became longer than what was strictly normal.

"Perfectly fine," Harry answered in a cold voice that clearly indicated anything but. 

Hagrid flinched. "I told 'im he was bein' stupid! He's a good man though. Yer dad made a dumb mistake. A really dumb mistake, but trust me Harry, he's a good man. if ya just give 'im a chance-"

"I’ll give him a chance," said Harry, finally looking up to meet Hagrid's dark eyes. For the first time in many years, Hagrid actually flinched at the sight in front of him. Those eyes were glowing. Not twinkling like those of Professor Dumbledore, but quite literally glowing. Glowing with a horribly familiar, horribly vivid green light that Hagrid knew all too well. "I’ll give him just as much of a chance as he gave me." 

Harry stood, quickly swiping up the money bag his father had provided for the two of them as he turned to leave. "Hang on!" protested Hagrid. "Where are ya goin'?"

"Sorry, Hagrid," Harry said with one last apologetic look over his shoulder, "but I think I need to be alone right now."

A few hours later, Harry walked through Diagon Alley, pulling a brand new, top-of-the-line trunk with enchantments like feather-light charms, bottomless pockets, a voice activated lock, and even an ability to force whatever the owner wanted to the top of the compartment through mere thought. The trunk contained many of his school things like a cauldron, potions ingredients, a telescope and even a school bag with similar enchantments to his trunk. It also held Harry’s course books, as well as several more for his own reading pleasure. Some of the titles among this pile were _The Punctuality Of Purebloods: A Crash Course in Wizarding Etiquette, The Wizengamot: An In-Depth Guide Into the Intricacies of Magical Politics, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, A Beginners Guide to Duelling and Defensive Magic and Hogwarts, A History._

Harry had also purchased owl-order subscriptions to the shops he’d visited, so he could order new books and supplies without travelling all the way to Diagon Alley. He would receive a catalogue each month with the store’s full selection. He now only had three stops left. One was Madam Malkin's, a robes shop. Another was the magical pet store he’d glimpsed. After seeing the usefulness of owls first hand, he fully intended to buy one for himself. The third and final destination was the one he was most excited for.

A wand shop!

Harry didn’t know the exact conversion between pounds and galleons, but over the past few hours of shopping and exploring, he’d deduced that what he had in his bag was a lot. If his assumptions were correct, it would likely cover him for the year. 

He smiled to himself, taking a sort of savage pleasure in spending his father's money. As he made his way into the robes shop, he was quickly greeted by an older woman who must have been Madam Malkin. "Hogwarts, dear?" Harry nodded and smiled a smile he’d perfected years earlier. She smiled back at him. "Follow me to the back, please. There is another young boy being taken care of as we speak." Harry followed her, stepping up onto a stool beside a tall, thin boy with slick, blond hair and dark grey eyes.

"Hello," said the boy. "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes." 

"First year as well?" Harry nodded. "My father's next door buying my books and Mother’s up the street looking at wands.” The boy had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley, something that did not leave a positive taste in his mouth, but he said nothing. If his cousin had taught him anything, it was to not rise to the challenge.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.

"No." 

"Play Quidditch at all?"

"No.” Harry didn’t even know what Quidditch was. Well, he was fairly certain that it must have been a game or sport of some kind, but beyond that, he was clueless.

"I do — Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"Not really..." He did know what the four houses were. Hagrid had mentioned his parents were in Gryffindor and Harry had pressed him rather hard for details on all four houses. His opinions seemed a bit biased to Harry, but he’d managed to ascertain what he thought was likely most of the picture. Harry had not yet considered which fit him best. He’d been dealing with what he considered to be more than enough for one day. Maybe Ravenclaw. Academics had always been a strong suit of his.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they? I know I'll be in Slytherin though. All our family has been — imagine being in Hufflepuff. I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Mmm," Harry mused. He didn't really mind loyalty. He thought, as a matter of fact, people with such a quality could have greatly improved his life up to this point.

"Say, what's your blood status?" the boy asked him, catching Harry a bit off guard.

He had no idea what that meant, but he was unknowingly rescued by Madam Malkin. "That's you done, dear." she pronounced. With an internal sigh of relief, Harry stepped down off of the stool.

"It was nice meeting you," he lied to the other boy, his charming smile well and fully in place. "I’ll see you at Hogwarts." He handed Madam Malkin a note from his father that had also been pressed into his money bag, one dictating that Harry wanted a full wardrobe. The man had thankfully left the specifications blank. The woman smiled, likely due to the large sum of money such an order would bring both her and her business.

When he exited the robes shop, Harry set his sights on one thing and one thing only — a wand shop. It turned out that it was harder to find than Harry would have thought.

As he searched, he also looked for anywhere that appeared to have the ability to fix his eyesight. In a world of magic, he thought such a thing seemed perfectly reasonable and realistic. Thus far, he hadn’t found either of his desired treasures but as he walked, he paused, noticing a rather dark alley that appeared to lead to an entirely different sector. Harry could make out the outlines of more buildings down that way, and, to his delight, at the moment, it seemed far less busy than Diagon Alley.

He saw no reason not to investigate.

As he walked further and further into this new sector of the alley, Harry began to realize just how sketchy a place he was clearly entering into. Many of the passers-by were eyeing him a bit too hungrily for his tastes and Harry, emulating the aura he tried to project around Dudley and his gang, did everything he could to give off the impression that he was not to be trifled with.

After a time, he came to what appeared to be a specialized apothecary. When he entered, the place seemed empty. That was until, a moment later, a soft, hiss of a voice spoke from the shadows of the room.

"Good afternoon."

Harry likely would have jumped, but he had been well conditioned to both jump scares and restraining physical reactions. So in return, he merely inclined his head to the figure who now stepped from the shadows. The man was tall and paper-thin with skin as white as milk and eyes as black as tunnels. Harry had no idea if the magical world contained vampires, but if it did, he suspected very much that he was staring at one. Subconsciously, he reinforced whatever aura he seemed to be able to raise around him as he answered the figure in the calmest, most casual voice he could muster.

"Good afternoon."

The man, or vampire, or whatever he was, chuckled. "Such courage from one so young. What can I do for you today?"

"I was wondering if there was any way you could cure my eyesight? If not, I was wondering if you could point me somewhere that could?”

The man stared at Harry with those dark, dead-looking eyes for several moments before slowly, ever so slowly, a wicked smile spread across his milk-white lips as he nodded. "I can do that, yes, but It will be costly." His smile grew, "It will be expensive, but I am speaking of more than galleons."

Harry's eyes narrowed as his heart sped up a few beats. "What else would it cost me?" he asked

"Blood." By this point, Harry was quite confident that he was indeed in the presence of a real-life vampire. "Not for me," it specified, as if realizing exactly where Harry's mind had gone, "it is a necessary component of the method I will use to heal your eyes."

"How much blood?”

The creature grinned wickedly again. "Quite a lot, I suspect," it answered casually. "You may also be interested in purchasing some blood-replenishing potions to ensure you will not be too weakened at the conclusion of the process."

“So, I’ll be weaker than normal then?"

"Certainly.” 

"How do I know this isn't a trap?" asked Harry.

The vampire chuckled. "I wouldn’t strike you down, child. At least, not without a very good reason for doing so."

"Why not?" Harry questioned, far from willing to take this creature at its word.

Its eyes locked upon his and Harry had the odd feeling of being x-rayed. "Because it will be far more interesting to see what you make of yourself, Harry Potter."

Harry's eyes widened. How the hell did the thing know his name? Harry didn’t sense that the creature was lying and in all of his life, he had never failed to pick up on a lie.

“Well then," he acquiesced with some reluctance, "I guess we should get started?"

The process took several hours and Harry, trying as he might, really couldn’t keep up with what was going on in front of him. The creature drew odd, complex patterns on the floor with some kind of dust, though Harry would later learn that that, whatever it was, had been nothing more than a placeholder. This had been the time-consuming part of the procedure, taking up multiple hours on its own. By the time the creature straightened up from its work, it was dark outside.

"And now," it said with some interest, "now the blood enters the arena." Slowly and deliberately, he took a long, thin knife from out of his robes and began to march towards Harry.

"If I need to be cut," Harry said quickly, trying his best to keep his voice level, "I want to do it myself."

The vampire paused, eyeing him up and down for several minutes before chuckling. "You are an odd wizard, Harry Potter. Sensible — more so than most in fact, but odd." 

The vampire handed Harry the knife, handle-first, and after taking a deep, calming breath, Harry cut open his palm. He had been nowhere close to remotely prepared for the terrifying amount of blood that poured from such a normal-looking cut.

"It is necessary," the vampire assured as he took Harry by the wrist and dragged him around the room, directing him to spatter blood all over the symbols he had drawn out on the floor. His hand was unnaturally cold. "Your blood is a powerful medium." 

After several minutes, Harry was pale and shaky. He felt as if he would faint at any moment but just then, the vampire directed him into the middle of the circle and stepped into the shadows before he returned with a long, silvery clump of hair that seemed to glow in the moonlight that now filtered through the window. The glow was almost unnatural. It seemed too bright to be anything but artificial. It appeared almost more like a bright glare than a glow, though Harry supposed that could have been at least in part due to the relative darkness surrounding them.

The creature put the hair in front of Harry and stepped back, well clear of the odd symbols and began to speak in a language that Harry didn’t understand. As he spoke, slowly, ever so slowly, Harry began to feel a prickling sensation starting at his feet that methodically crept up his body. At first, it was as if he had slammed his funny bone. As the chant grew louder and faster, Harry quickly found that the stabbing feeling intensified to far more than that. As it ran up his body, it filled his chest, closed around his throat, ripped at his gums and then, finally reached his eyes, where it peaked, becoming far more than tingling as his eyes quite literally felt as if they would burn out of his head at any moment.

Oddly, as if from far away, Harry heard screaming that he would later know to be his own. Screaming that mercifully did not reach the street due to the wards on the walls. Just as distantly, Harry felt himself fall to his knees, though the fact only half-registered in his mind as he clawed at his face in desperation. Just as he thought for sure he would die from the pain, it stopped as suddenly as it started. The blinding white light that had consumed everything in his vision receded and Harry slowly, ever so slowly removed his glasses, realizing that, to his astonishment, he could see perfectly.

"Congratulations.” Once more, the vampire’s soft, hiss of a voice no longer sounded distorted and distant. "You can see just as the world around you truly is."

Harry tried to stand but swiftly found he couldn’t. He was too shaky, too weak. Several vials were forced into his hands and only after drinking all of them on the command of the vampire could Harry finally stand. He could see, from the reflection on the glass, that he was an absolute mess, but he didn’t look nearly as pale as he did upon the completion of what he could only call a ritual.

"Through that door," indicated the vampire, "will be a place for you to clean yourself up and change if that trunk has any clothes in it."

Harry sighed with relief. He was not enthusiastic about walking out into a street like this one looking so vulnerable. It took him about ten minutes to clean himself up and change, but when he did, he promptly exited back into the main shop and faced the vampire, who appraised him one final time.

"That will be one-hundred galleons, Harry Potter." Harry would have winced at the price had he not had more than enough and had it not been his father's money he was paying with.

He paid without complaint, took hold of his trunk and made for the door as quickly as he could. The vampire made no attempt to stop him, though Harry could practically feel his unnaturally dark eyes fixated on his back as he made to leave the shop and re-enter the hazardous streets of Knockturn Alley.

Just as he was about to step through the door, the creature’s hiss of a voice called to him for a final time. 

“If you are asked how your eyesight was fixed, I encourage you to lie." The creature's lips tightened. "What your Ministry foolishly deems as the Dark Arts are not viewed in such a positive light by your kind." With that parting statement, the vampire disappeared back into the shadows as Harry bemusedly stepped back into the alley.

Harry, marvelling at the ease of his vision without glasses scanned the street up and down, looking for the way from which he had come in order to find the wand shop that Hagrid had spoken of back on the other side. In searching, his eyes fell upon a small building with the words _Hephaestus's Custom Wands_ imprinted upon its sign.

Harry had always been fascinated by Greek mythology, so the name Hephaestus alone commanded his attention, as he thought it was a rather clever illusion.

He crept his way towards the entrance of the shop, making sure he wasn’t being stalked by God only knew what was in this alley. He felt miles better after downing those admittedly vile potions, but he still felt weaker than he would typically feel on a regular day. That was the exact moment when Harry realized he may well have used up his supply of “regular days”.

When he reached the entrance of the shop, he tentatively pushed open the door and stepped inside. He quickly realized that he was not the only customer. There were two other people in the shop who seemed to be waiting for its owner. Unlike the vampire from his last venture, Harry was at least reasonably sure that the two of them were human.

Both of them were women. Or, to be more precise, one of them was a woman and one of them was a girl.

They were very clearly a mother and a daughter, as the shorter of them- who could not have been older than Harry- was a spitting image of the taller woman. It was probably safe to assume that in terns of her height, she would likely follow in her mother’s footsteps. This fact rang even more true when Harry considered that she didn’t look to be any older than him. In fact, he thought she might have even been younger, yet they were almost exactly the same height. Both women had platinum blonde hair and pale, perfect skin. When they turned to appraise Harry, he actually stiffened. Their eyes may have been the most magnetic things he’d ever looked at. They were a bluish-silver, with specks of the latter colour standing out vividly in their irises. 

He met the young girl's gaze, momentarily entranced by those odd, mesmerizing eyes. A split second later, he no longer saw the bluish-silver of her irises. Instead, he saw a dark, abandoned street as he, Harry, stepped out of the shop and walked towards the wand shop he now stood in.

Idly, he realized that he must not be the only one with the ability to look into the thoughts of others. Perhaps it was a generic, magical ability.

At that thought, memories of his own exploits over the years floated to the surface. Memories of him peering into the eyes and surface thoughts of others. Harry did everything he could to push back, focusing on the bluish-silver of her eyes, which he could still make out through a sort of haze. As he did so, the image changed, though this time, it was not one that was familiar to him.

He- or more likely she- was reading a book. There came a knock from the door behind her, and a woman that Harry recognized from moments earlier entered the room, clearly intent on speaking to her daughter. What she said though, Harry never found out. Just as the memory started, he felt a sudden jolt pulose through his mind, as if it had run into a brick wall. Quickly, he looked away, causing the world around him to come back into focus as dazedly, he shook his head.

The other girl was still looking at him, though now, her eyes shone with curiosity whereas before, they had merely reflected her indifference.

"Do I even want to know?" asked a strong, deep voice from somewhere in the corner of the room. Privately, Harry wondered what was up with wizards and their obsession with hiding in shadows.

Out of the aforementioned shadows stepped a tall, broad-shouldered man with short, cropped grey hair and a long, bushy beard of the same colour. He was a rather bulky man and had well-calloused hands and dark brown eyes.

The girl's mother, who's eyes had narrowed upon the completion of her daughter's interaction merely shook her head, taking a rather firm grip on the girl’s shoulder. "I don’t think that will be necessary, Master Hephaestus, but I thank you for your concern." 

The girl didn’t seem to care much, as she continued to look at Harry. This time, nothing out of the ordinary transpired, but he could feel the raw intensity of her gaze and felt as if she were trying to look into his very soul.

"Who are you?" the girl asked. Her voice was soft, yet cool. It gave away nothing as to her internal thoughts.

Harry didn't so much as flinch. "Sorry, but this doesn’t seem like the place to be giving out my name."

The girl looked annoyed for a moment, but before she could speak, her mother beat her to the punch.

"Charlotte, there’s no need to accost the boy. Not everybody grows up with the luxury of being able to walk through this alley without fear." The girl, Charlotte, looked extremely miffed, probably because now Harry had her name and she didn’t have his.

"Should we get this out of the way then?" asked the large man whom Harry presumed was the wandmaker. "I don't have all night and I have a feeling that your wand will be very complicated." He indicated Charlotte when he spoke and she nodded. He turned to Harry. "Stay here while I get this one sorted out, will you?" Harry didn't quite know what the man meant by that but nodded, doing as he was told as the man and the two ladies walked through a door leading off of the lobby. 

Once they had passed through, Harry could hear nothing of their conversation, and ascertained that had likely been the exact purpose for them leaving in the first place.

Charlotte had been sure that nothing could distract her from the joy and excitement that had accompanied her all the way from their family manor to the dingy corner of Knockturn Alley they now resided in. She had, however, been very much mistaken. 

She hadn’t expected anyone to be occupying the low-key, high-priced wand shop that her family had always frequented. To her surprise, not only was the shop occupied, but it was so by a boy who looked no older than Daphne. On top of that, he was alone with no parent or guardian in sight and if even that was not enough, he seemed to know and be a capable user of Legilimency, even if his Occlumency had admittedly seemed non-existent.

How would he know one and not the other?

Now, as she and her mother, Adriana, followed Hephaestus into a more private setting, Charlotte quickly cleared her mind and allowed her focus to shift from the odd boy to the odd wall that stood in front of her.

Some time later, Charlotte and Adriana were back out on the streets of Knockturn Alley. Charlotte braced herself. She knew all too well that a lecture was on its way. "That was a poor showing of control, Charlotte. Why, pray tell, did you take it upon yourself to assault the mind of the boy without reason?"

Briefly, Charlotte debated telling her mother that the boy had managed to get his licks in too, but she decided that information was better kept to herself. "There's something… different about him," she finally answered. "Surely you felt it too?"

Adriana hummed softly. "Perhaps, but an admittedly potent aura is hardly a good reason to legilimize a boy whom you may never meet again."

Charlotte had no good retort for such a remark, but she had the unmistakable feeling that she and the boy, whatever his name was, would meet a few more times in the not-so-distant future.

_**Later that night, at the home of Hephaestus...** _

It was a mentally drained Hephestentine Gregorovich that settled himself down in bed with a sigh, as he pressed his large, calloused hands to his temples.

'What are the odds?' he thought to himself. 

The boy had been as curious as the girl before him. Both had favoured ebony, though their cores differed greatly. The girl had been chosen by a dragon heartstring from a Ukrainian Ironbelly and the boy had been favoured by a feather from the tail of a phoenix. The only one of them he had, as a matter of fact. Beyond that, what made the phenomena so mystifying and worrying was that, if the rumour about that Ironbelly heartstring was to be believed- a heartstring he had salvaged from the remains of his grandfather's shop years earlier- both young children were now in possession of wands irrevocably linked to the two greatest dark sorcerers of the past century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Some of the dates in this chapter don’t line up with canon (like Malfoy being in the alley when he was). This was intentional. I will play with the timeline when it benefits the plot. I’ll only speak on it here, just so I don’t get reviews about it in the future. Same goes for things like the phoenix feather. There is one extra one in this story, meaning there are three sibling wands. It was not a mistake, just a conscious choice to change canon.**
> 
> **Also, apologies if this chapter seemed cliché. I plan to subvert most of the tropes eventually, but they sort of need to be established in order to do so. This story will hit its stride in time. I also don’t love how info-dumpy this chapter seems, but there’s no real way to change it without entirely re-writing it, which I frankly have no interest in doing.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised on September 6th, 2020 with the assistance of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	3. The Other Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
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__**September 1, 1991**  
No. 4, Privet Drive  
7:45 AM<

Harry paced back across his new bedroom at No. 4, Privet Drive for what must have been the thousandth time that morning. He had never been so excited for anything in his entire life, though in fairness, that wasn't saying a whole lot. Harry had never allowed himself to become excited much before. He had, as a matter of fact, essentially been conditioned to associate excitement with disappointment. He attempted to take that same approach with Hogwarts, and with magic, and with all the rest of it but he could not.

He had spent a fair few days brooding about his father's betrayal after returning from the alleys that night via public transport. He had mercifully been able to simply walk into the Gringotts atrium and ask for some of his galleons to be converted into pounds, at which point he had found out that the conversion rate was 50 pounds to a galleon. He had been rather surprised when the Dursleys, obviously fearing the return of more Magicals, had decided to give Harry Dudley's spare room upon his return. 

A year or so ago, that was something that probably would have made the boy protest a lot more than he had. But now, he was too wary of his cousin to protest much at all. Ordinarily, Harry would have been sceptical of such out of character behaviour from the Dursleys and likely even looked for a trap of some sort. At that moment, however, still reeling from his father's ultimate betrayal, Harry had simply nodded along.

It was not as if he wasn’t angry with his father. On the contrary, he was livid and wanted nothing more than to give James Potter a taste of the misery he had endured as a result of his actions. At the same time, he wanted nothing more than to avoid his father. He had left Harry to rot; he did not deserve his attention one way or the other.

His brooding had not lasted long, as Harry's natural curiosity had overtaken him, and he had promptly ripped into the pile of books that awaited him. Harry started with _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ , as he thought it would be rather useful. 

It had not been overly long compared to a lot of the novels and textbooks that Harry frequented in his day to day life. In comparison to those, it had been rather simplistic as well. He had read it very quickly, taking simplified notes in one of many enchanted notebooks he had purchased from the magical bookstore. The books pretty much granted him endless pages. It was also warded so that only he could open it.

It had taken him only one read through to memorize the book’s contents, aided by his note-taking.

Next, he made his way through the first year sections of his Potions and Transfiguration textbooks. Since they would be applicable for multiple years, Harry would read the later year material eventually. In saying that, he wanted to memorize the first year material as soon as possible. Fortunately, Potions was a topic he found rather easy. In many ways, it was quite similar to cooking, something that he was intimately familiar with.

He also managed to read and memorize his Defence Against the Dark Arts book. It was something that interested him quite a lot. The idea of duelling, in particular, sounded rather appealing.

He would eventually break into his own defence material, but first, he wanted to make sure he was not socially incompetent in the wizarding world. It took him quite some time to get through the book on the Wizengamot, its history, and its many laws. He didn't have that one memorized, as it was far more complex and was the longest tome he had ever seen, but he thought he had a strong grasp on the basics. For now, he figured that would be sufficient. 

He thought that he should get on fine, barring a sudden desire to become a solicitor, a career that he was frankly not interested in at the moment. The book on wizarding etiquette did not take nearly as long to read, though it had been a rather monotonous usage of his time.

All in all, Harry did everything he could in the two months leading up to his arrival at Hogwarts to prepare. He worked through all of that material, plus his other first year books and quite a bit of magical theory in the mornings. Afternoons were spent writing with a quill, something he had never done before. According to his readings, that skill would apparently be a necessity. His evenings were spent with his wand out. 

At first, he never cast any magic, merely practiscing the wand movements and focusing on the necessary intent. Eventually, after reading in _Hogwarts, A History_ that underage magic was ignored until the child went to Hogwarts, Harry began to practice some of the practical first year material. He couldn’t do much for defence, but he did practice a lot of Transfiguration. The subject seemed to come quite naturally to him. Harry wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that he’d always been a rather visual person. Visualization was, after all, one of the key aspects of Transfiguration. He was limited too in Charms, though he practisced the ones he could — for instance, the levitation charm

By the time the first morning of September arrived, Harry had yet to find a spell that had truly given him an issue. That was certainly a confidence booster of sorts. Despite that, Harry had to admit a fair bit of apprehension at entering into what, for all intents and purposes, was a whole new world to him. Upon reflection whilst sitting in the back of his uncle’s car on the way to London, Harry decided that he was rather happy with his preparations. 

He just hoped they would be enough.

He wanted to succeed, after all. Harry had decided that if he was going to avoid his father at the station, a decision he had made weeks prior, he would show him the errors of his past self through his actions instead of his words. He would outperform his brother, outdo him in every way he could. One day, he would surpass his father as well, but that would, unfortunately, take much longer.

He made his way through the station as quickly as he could, cursing his new snowy owl, whom he had chosen to name Nemesis after the Greek goddess of revenge, for the racket she was making. Personally, Harry thought the name to be rather apt. He cursed under his breath, thanking the heavens— or Merlin, as Wizards did, that the author of Hogwarts, A History had possessed the foresight to note down how to get passed the seemingly solid barrier and onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Harry suspected he would have managed to figure it out one way or another simply by tailing people, but this was much more ideal, seeing as he wanted to get onto the train as promptly as possible

When he crossed over to the other side of the station, the one that was hidden through the use of some rather advanced magic, Harry looked around. Taking note of the hordes of people wandering in every direction and the fact that their attires were split near evenly between wizarding robes and muggle attire that he was far more familiar with. The massive scarlet steam engine dominated much of the platform, and Harry could not help but quirk an eyebrow at the words Hogwarts Express ostentatiously imprinted upon it.

As he made a beeline for the train, he had the distinct impression that he was being watched. Turning, Harry saw a girl about his age staring at him openly with a blank expression. She stood beside a tall woman who could have passed as her doppelgänger if she was not likely twenty-some years older than her. Both of them had platinum blonde hair and enchanting silver eyes that seemed to have an odd, bluish hue to them. The woman beside her was staring at the train, intently watching the back of a young woman with long, dirty blonde hair make her way aboard.

The other girl though, her daughter, Harry assumed, continued to watch him intently, not seeming to care that he was staring right back at her. She could not have been older than him. His age, at the latest, Harry would guess. In response to her staring, Harry raised an eyebrow, asking a silent question. In answer, she smiled slightly at him, locking eyes with him as she did so.

The world around him gave a terrifying lurch as several images flashed through his mind.

He was standing next to the slim, blond boy in the robes shop, thinking of how he reminded him painfully of his cousin. He was running from Dudley and his gang, thinking of how badly he wanted to escape...

'No!' he thought furiously. 'Not this one! Not again!'

Harry felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his mind as the images cut off suddenly, not quite playing through to their conclusion. He was breathing a bit heavily and he had slumped against the barrier beside him. Harry stared wide-eyed at the girl for a moment, sure that whatever had just happened, she had caused it. 

She no longer wore the thin, innocent smile on her face. She now wore a curious, calculating look that he found far more off-putting than her smile.

Then, as he studied her one final time, Harry noticed that it was the same girl from the wand shop in Knockturn Alley. That would mean that whatever this odd occurrence was, it was the second time in as many meetings with the girl that it had happened.

Definitely not a coincidence, in that case.

Harry didn’t give her the chance to do anything like that again. He promptly turned on his heel and ignored her stare as he quickly made his way onto the train.

As soon as he was on board, Harry swiftly ducked into the back most compartment and changed into his school uniform, marvelling for the hundredth time in the last number of weeks how great it felt not to have to deal with glasses. The ritual, for lack of a better term, had certainly been painful, but he thought it had been more than worth it.

Harry removed a book from his bag, took out his wand and levitated his school things into the overhead compartment. Taking a seat, he opened The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and beginning to read. Some time later, Harry felt the train begin to move and he smiled, quite happy that nobody had imposed on him. As if the world was simply out to spite him, Harry heard a soft knock on his compartment door a minute or so later and sighed, looking up to see two girls standing outside.

He nodded, prompting the girl in the lead to push the door open slowly. She was quite tall for their age, maybe three inches or so taller than Harry. She had a slim build with honey blonde hair, soft pale skin, full pink lips, and pale, icy- blue eyes. Harry thought she was rather pretty, but the fact didn't mean a whole lot in his eleven-year-old mind. Her friend was a couple of inches shorter than Harry. She had strawberry blonde hair and sea-green eyes. Her features were soft, but not as defined as those of her companion.

"Hello," greeted the shorter girl, sounding rather apprehensive, "may we sit here?"

Harry nodded, not really seeing why not as he made to go back to his book. A moment later, he heard a throat clear from in front of him and looked up, almost jumping backwards when he realized that the shorter girl was now standing directly in front of him, her hand outstretched.

"My name’s Tracey Davis, presumptive Lady to the House of Davis. It's nice to meet you."

Harry noted that her greeting was formal, though her House seemed rather insignificant based on the lack of gusto in her introduction. He filtered through his memory bank. Davis wasn’t a name he recognized; certainly not one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. He did not think it one of a powerful pureblood family anywhere on the political ladder either. Nonetheless, he took her soft hand in his.

“Charmed, Miss Davis," he said, bowing his head over her hand. Customs did not dictate he kiss it. That was only when meeting an heiress or Lady of at least an Ancient and Most Noble House.

"What's your name?" she asked, coming out with it rather bluntly but not unkindly. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry swore he saw her friend, who was trying to detach her owl's cage from her trunk, wince.

"I'm sure you’ll find out at the sorting," Harry said with his trademark smile. He had no intention of revealing that his brother was the Boy-Who-Lived. That would not lead to any questions he felt particularly inclined to answer. He noticed that the other girl had extracted her cage and was reaching for her trunk, as well as her friend’s. Harry took out his wand before she could do so, summoning it from the Auror grade wand holster he had bought at Hephaestus's.

"Wingardium Leviosa." he incanted, causing both of the trunks to float gracefully up into the compartment. The girl in front of him — Tracey Davis her name had been, gawked at him while her friend merely raised her eyebrows before making her way over to him as well.

"Wow!" exclaimed Tracey, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. "That was amazing! When did you learn that spell? How did you do it? Can you teach me? Are you a first year? I bet you're brilliant if you are! You're definitely going to be a Ravenclaw-"

"Let the boy breathe, Tracey." said the other girl, rolling her eyes as she smiled at him. He recognized the smile as one of formality, one he himself might smile at a stranger. She pulled it off very well. "A pleasure to meet you," she said, extending her own hand. On her right ring finger, unlike Tracey's, gleamed a stunning diamond ring adorned with what Harry thought might be a crest.

The ring of a pureblood heiress.

"...I am Daphne Greengrass, Heiress to the Founding House of Greengrass."

Internally, Harry realized that he may have just lost any chance of keeping a low profile. The Greengrass family, as he had read in _Nature’s Nobility: A Guide to Wizarding Genealogy_ , was one of the most powerful and prestigious families residing in Magical Britain. They owned massive businesses all throughout the country. The largest of these was their infamous import/export corporation, but they also owned a law firm and some other miscellaneous businesses as well. As a result, they were noted as one of Magical Britain’s richest families. It was impossible to tell exactly how much they or any of the other top families had, but they could very well rank at number one, according to the book. 

On top of all that, they were also a Founding Twelve family.

There were rungs to the complex ladder of prestige that made up the country. There were houses, like Davis's. These families were new to the world, typically no more than a century old. Often, these were the houses that were started by a muggleborn, or a halfblood marrying a muggleborn, or in some cases, even a muggle.

Then, there were Ancient Houses. To qualify as an Ancient House, a family had to have lived in Magical Britain for 13 generations, which roughly translated to four-hundred years. A step above that was Ancient and Noble Houses. These were families that met the requirements for an Ancient House but also had at least one Order of Merlin First Class recipient in its history, or a former or present Chief Warlock or Minister for Magic. Second from the top were Ancient and Most Noble Houses. These houses had at least three Order of Merlin First Class recipients, Ministers for Magic, Chief Warlocks, or a combination of the three. 

One could earn these ranks through the lesser Order of Merlin awards as well. Essentially, an Order of Merlin First Class was viewed as the equivalent of two Order of Merlin Second Classes, or three Third Classes.

At the top of the political hierarchy were Founding Twelve Families. Half of them were believed extinct now, but to be a Founding Twelve Family, it meant that yours was one of the twelve families that helped to found the Wizengamot, and by extension, Magical Britain in the year 1008 AD. Though the Ministry of Magic was not founded until several hundred years later, this was historically considered as the founding of Magical Britain. The Founding Twelve Families were: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Emerys, Black, Longbottom, Nott, Greengrass, Peverell, Selwyn, and Lestrange.

Harry took her hand like he had Tracey's, but he did kiss the back of hers briefly. "Well met, Heiress Greengrass. Pleased to meet you.”

She raised her eyebrows. "It seems safe to assume you come from a pureblood family," she noted, eying him critically. Harry just kept his face impassive, choosing to neither confirm nor deny her assumption.

"Oh come on!" put in Tracey. "You've got to give us something!"

Harry just quirked an eyebrow. “Sorry, but I don’t see why I do.”

"Oh fine!" she conceded. "But at least tell me what that spell was?"

"The levitation charm." he enlightened. "It's fairly simple; I had no problems with it."

"You're definitely going to Ravenclaw." Tracey proclaimed with the air of someone all-knowing and powerful.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe." 

"You don't seem overly bothered," noted Daphne Greengrass.

Harry just shrugged again. "Not really, no." he looked at her. She at least would be someone of importance, friend, foe, or otherwise. Learning a bit about her might not be a bad idea. "How about you?”

“I’ll probably be sorted into Ravenclaw or Slytherin if I had to guess," she said. "Ravenclaw would have its advantages. It would probably have fewer drawbacks than Slytherin, but Slytherin is probably more useful to me."

"Why do you say that?" Harry asked curiously.

"Political reasons," she said evasively, and Harry nodded.

"And what about you?" Harry asked Tracey, not letting the girl direct the attention back onto him.

"Oh," she said, a bit taken aback, "um… I'm not really sure. Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad, I guess." Harry got the distinct impression that she was not a fan of the idea of going to Slytherin, something that made him rather curious. He had assumed she would want to stick with her friend.

"You never said which house you thought you would be sorted into." reminded Greengrass.

"I don't know," he answered, "same as you, pretty much. I think it will either be Ravenclaw or Slytherin. I have no idea which one.”

He felt like he suited Ravenclaw or Slytherin best. He leaned towards Ravenclaw, though he supposed wanting to outdo the Boy-Who-Lived was rather ambitious of him. He had heard that there was a rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Though it would doubtlessly be annoying at times, he thought it may be quite humorous to go to Slytherin to spite the Potters, who had traditionally been Gryffindors for centuries according to _Nature's Nobility: A Guide to Wizarding Genealogy_.

"How intense is the rivalry between Gryffindors and Slytherins?" he asked, figuring that at least Greengrass may be in a position to answer him.

"I think it depends on the person," she answered carefully. "My parents were both Slytherins and were never overly bothered by it, but others take it more seriously.”

Harry nodded; it made sense. 

A moment later, the door opened, and two people stepped in, looking for all the world like the pair of them owned the train. "Have any of you seen my brother?" asked the boy in the lead. Harry's heart gave a jolt when he noticed the obvious similarities between the two of them.

Indeed, they certainly looked similar. Admittedly, there were a fair number of differences too.

They were close in height, with this boy being maybe an inch or two taller, though his brother had a lot more muscle. Their facial features were quite close in appearance, as well. Both twins’ faces were sharp and defined, but Harry's were softer, more aristocratic-looking. He was at least a shade paler than his brother too. Their hair was the same shade and length, though where Harry's was tame and perfect, this boy's was messy and out of control. It looked much like Harry's before he had tamed it through what he now knew to be magic. 

Their eyes too were different. They were the same shape, but the shades were not the same. Where Harry's were a pale, intense green, his brother’s were a deep hazel. He also wore elegant glasses. On the boy's brow, vivid as the night was dark, sat a scar shaped perfectly like the letter V.

"You're Charlus Potter!" breathed out Tracey, sounding for all the world like she could not believe it. Harry winced. He knew his brother was famous, but he had never imagined that girls he had never met before would fawn over him.

"At your service," Charlus said with a lazy smile. "This is my best mate, Ron Weasley." He gestured to the tall, gangly redhead beside him; he too was smiling broadly. "Anyway, we're looking for my-" and then his eyes found Harry's and he froze. There was a moment of comprehension as his twin was clearly making sure the similarities were not coincidental. After a brief pause, he spoke, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

"Harry?"

"Charlus." Harry greeted shortly, his voice smooth and neutral.

"You… uh… don't look like I expected you to. All of our family have had glasses, and our hair doesn't really behave."

"Both of those are easy to fix, you know?" said Harry, wanting to throw the fact in the other boy's face for a reason that he could not quite explain.

"Paler too — wait… you fixed your eyesight? No one from our family does that."

"Until now." Harry countered pleasantly.

"But it's tradition," argued Charlus, sounding baffled as to why Harry would ever do such a thing.

“That’s ridiculous.” Harry countered. “What’s the point in a tradition if it makes life harder for you? Besides, I would hardly have known, would I?" His voice grew a bit colder now, and Charlus recoiled a bit.

"Look, Harry, dad said you might be a bit upset with us. I think we should go and talk about this in another compartment. I'd like to get to know my brother."

"Time out!" cried Tracey, drawing everyone's attention onto her as she glared at Harry. "Your brother is the Charlus Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and you didn't tell us?"

"No offence, but this is exactly why I didn't tell you." He looked up at Charlus, his face now a bit sour since his cover had been blown. "We can talk at Hogwarts," he told his brother. 

The boy just shook his head. "We'll talk now,” Charlus countered, and his voice carried a certain amount of authority that surprised Harry. "Family is more important than friends, Harry." The hypocrisy of his twin’s statement made Harry want to curse him, but he did not. Instead, he stood, inclining his head to the two witches before exiting after his brother and his friend — Weasley. 

If for no other reason, he simply complied so that this conversation would be without witnesses. Except for Ron Weasley, apparently. That fact did not sit well with Harry, but he let it be, for now.

"Anything off the trolly, dears?" a plump woman said as they neared a compartment that the two boys leading Harry seemed to have reserved with their bags.

"We'll take the lot!" Charlus proclaimed proudly, smiling as he piled a bit of everything into his pockets. "Harry needs a proper introduction into the wondrous world of wizarding sweets!"

A minute or so later, Harry had been buffeted into a compartment with the two boys and had had a mountain of treats dumped in front of him. Charlus took a seat across from him. "We do look a bit different," the other said. "Aside from the eyes and hair, I mean."

Harry snorted. "You drag your brother off after not talking to him for ten years and the first thing you say is that we look different?" 

"Well, it's true," Charlus defended, blushing. "How did you fix your hair?" he asked, sounding as if he wanted to strictly avoid whatever Harry had done.

"Magic," Harry answered simply, causing the boy to raise an eyebrow.

"Come off it, you lived with muggles. You couldn't possibly have-"

"Just because I lived with muggles doesn't mean I couldn't use magic," cut in Harry, causing his brother to raise his eyebrows. "I willed my hair to not be a mess every day until one day, it wasn't."

Charlus raised his eyebrows even higher. "That's not possible," he proclaimed. "Dad says wizards can't control their magic until they get to Hogwarts."

"Yet here I am," Harry coolly retorted. "Besides, it's not like father," he put an almost poisonous emphasis on the word, "hasn't made mistakes involving me in the past."

Charlus winced. "You're really mad about that, aren't you?" he asked, his voice now quiet and a lot less confident.

"You would be too if you knew what they did," Harry retorted coldly.

"What did they do?" 

"None of your business," Harry answered a bit defensively. "If you cared so much, you should have convinced your father to come and check in on me."

"He really does regret it, you know," said Charlus softly. "We talked about it before today. A lot recently, actually. He says it was the worst mistake of his life."

"He has no idea," Harry muttered darkly, causing Charlus to shake his head.

"You'll have to forgive him! He made a mistake and he knows it, but he had good reasons," he said. "He was trying to protect you."

Harry snorted again. "If Voldemort came for one of us-" Ron jumped and Charlus gasped, his mouth falling open.

"Y-y-you said her name," he mumbled, sounding awed.

Harry scoffed. "Don't tell me the-Boy-Who-Lived is too afraid of Voldemort to use her fake name? Anyway, if Voldemort," he emphasized the name, causing both Charlus and Ron to wince, "came for one of us, surely it would have been you."

"Well yeah," said Charlus, "but I beat her once, I could've done it again. If you got caught in the crossfire, you might have been hurt like-" his voice cracked.

"Like our mother," finished Harry without emotion. "You seem… very confident you could beat her again if she's even still alive."

"I beat her once," Charlus said proudly.

"How?" asked Harry. His voice was completely neutral, but he was annoyed now. This boy's confidence and bravado was reminding him far too much of Dudley, and that was without addressing the air of self-entitlement that seemed to surround him.

"Don't be thick," Weasley said exasperatedly, speaking for the first time. "Everybody knows that nobody knows how Charlus beat You-Know-Who."

Harry just blinked at the oxymoron. "If nobody knows how it happened, do they even know that it did happen in the first place? I mean… what if she just killed mum and ran off?"

"I beat her!" Charlus argued more loudly, causing Harry to quirk a brow.

"How?"

"I don't-"

"Don't know," finished Harry. "Once is a fluke," he said calmly, "twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern. You're famous for something that you don't even remember. You're famous for something that you can't even prove happened. For all you know," he added bitingly, "I could be the Boy-Who-Lived. You're not the only one with a scar." He pushed aside his fringe to reveal the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. "And between me and you," he added, taking an odd, savage pleasure in the onslaught as his twin turned a nasty shade of red, "a lightning bolt looks much better than a V."

He had no idea what was spurring him on, as such an outburst was most unlike him. He supposed it was all the years of pent up frustration pouring out of him.

"You...you-" Charlus sputtered, but before he could go any further, the door slid open, and three figures stepped inside. Harry immediately recognized one of them as the boy he had met in Diagon Alley two months ago.

"Is it true?" asked the boy in question curiously. "They've been saying up and down the train that Charlus Potter is in this compartment."

"In the flesh," said Charlus, though his voice held none of the charm nor arrogance it had earlier. It was now cold and condescending.

The other boy either failed to notice or chose to ignore his tone of voice as he held out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Heir Potter. My name is Draco Malfoy; heir to The Ancient and Most Noble House of Malfoy."

Charlus made no move towards taking the boy's hand. "I know who you are, Malfoy. You can leave. I don't need your sort around."

An ugly look crossed Draco's face before he schooled his features. "Oh? I don't know, Potter," he drawled. “If you're going off making friends with Weasley already, I think you could use some help." He allowed a confident, charming smile to cross his face. "I can help you make sure you get on with the right sort."

"And I'm sure we can go party in our white masks and get matching dark marks," snarked Charlus, causing Malfoy's eyes to narrow almost at once.

"You ought to be more careful of who you're accusing, Potter," Malfoy warned coldly. "An heir accusing another heir like that, and one with such a powerful-"

“I think you’ve got a few things mixed up, Heir Malfoy," Harry remarked, cutting efficiently across the rebuke. The argument was getting rather old by this point.

Malfoy looked at him for the first time and his eyes narrowed once more. "Who are you?" 

"Harry Potter," he answered, "the actual Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. Charlus and I are twins; I was born first. I think you should leave before things get out of hand. I would hate for you to hurt your family's reputation by getting in a fight with the Boy-Who-Lived on your first day at Hogwarts."

Malfoy evaluated Harry for a moment. "We've met," he remembered, eyeing him up and down. "You wore glasses then."

"Correct on both counts," Harry affirmed, tilting his head towards the door. Malfoy took the hint. He inclined his head to Harry whilst sneering at Ron and Charlus as he made his exit. A very awkward silence fell over the trio for several minutes before the door was flung open again. This time, they were intruded upon by an ordinary-looking girl. Ordinary-looking, at least, if you discounted her bushy mane of brown hair and her large front teeth.

Harry internally wondered whether anybody in the wizarding world knew how to knock.

"Excuse me, but I'm looking for a toad. A boy named Neville has lost one."

"We haven't seen it," Charlus said dismissively, trying to tuck away his wand as discreetly as possible. Harry hadn’t even noticed it was drawn at all, but the girl's eyes sharpened on it at once.

"Oh! Were you going to do magic?"

"No," Charlus answered shortly.

"Oh — well I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course. I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard — I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough — I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"

Harry blinked. She had rambled off all of that on one breath.

It seemed as if he wasn't the only one with a near eidetic memory, though he liked to think he was a bit more polite about it than she was.

"Ron Weasley," said the boy in question, who seemed to have recovered first, "this is Harry and Charlus Potter."

"Are you really?" Hermione asked Charlus. "I've read all about you, of course. You're in the _Rise and Fall of The Dark Arts_ and _Notable Magical Events of The Twentieth Century_ and-"

"Yes, I am," confirmed Charlus, wisely cutting her off before she could build up too much of a head of steam.

Hermione blinked this time. She clearly was not used to being cut off. As soon as she regained her gusto, her eyes fixed on Harry. "I never knew Charlus Potter had a brother. You're not mentioned in any of the books or-"

"Well I wouldn't be, would I?" Harry asked rhetorically, taking a page out of his brother's book, and not letting Hermione build up too much momentum. "I didn't cause the fall of the dark arts, nor was I the centre of a notable event of the twentieth century."

"Well… no, I suppose not… but I still would have thought you'd have been mentioned."

"So sorry to disappoint," said Harry, his voice dripping with false sympathy. He was about done with people by this point. "It's been a pleasure, Miss Granger, but I need to use the loo." Harry stood and left, making quickly for the nearest restroom, not planning to come out for several hours.

True to his word, he did not, choosing instead to simply sit there and reflect on the day’s events, numerous as they were. He’d not lost composure like he had done today in a very long time. Something about his brother just rubbed him the wrong way, and that was without accounting for the pent-up frustration he had unleashed.

Harry did not emerge from the restroom until the driver warned that they would be arriving at Hogwarts in five minutes. He quickly made his way into the compartment which he had first occupied. Daphne and Tracey were still there, mercifully not in the midst of changing. He at least had the decency to knock.

"Where have you been?" exploded Tracey at once, but Harry did not give her time to speak anything more than that. He merely crossed the room, grabbed his trunk and owl cage, and left, leaving a mildly amused Daphne Greengrass and an immensely annoyed Tracey Davis in his wake.

Suddenly, he was very grateful for the fact that he had changed much earlier in the day.

They all exited the train several minutes later. Harry was the first of the first years to make it onto the platform and he could see, in the distance, the rough outline of a massive castle which he knew to be Hogwarts. For now, none of its more precise details could be discerned. He had seen an outside photograph in Hogwarts, A History, but he doubted it would be comparable to seeing it in person.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here! Alrigh’ there Charlus, Ron, Harry!" Harry recognized Hagrid at once. The man was, after all, rather hard to miss, let alone forget. He made his way towards the hulking man, shooting him a reassuring smile when he noticed that Hagrid was looking at him with a modicum of concern.

The first years followed Hagrid down a steep cliff and into a kind of docking station where several small, old, rickety- looking boats awaited them. "No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid boomed. Harry ended up with a very large, plain-looking girl, a sharp-looking boy with aristocratic features who stayed very quiet, and a tall, dark skinned boy with sharp, dark eyes. None of them said a word as they cruised across the water, though Harry nearly gasped aloud when he got his first sight of Hogwarts. 

He was right, no picture did the thing justice, not with its sheer scale, or its hundreds, if not thousands of windows all lit up by torches in the darkness.

A few minutes later, they had all disembarked and followed Hagrid up a treacherous path to the large, oak front doors that seemed to lead directly into what Harry imagined would be the entrance hall of the castle. Hagrid raised a massive hand and loudly knocked three times on the door.

It swung open a moment later and a tall, thin, black-haired woman stepped forward.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said proudly.

"Thank you, Hagrid," she said in a thick Scottish brogue, "I shall take them from here."

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right — but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

Professor McGonagall proceeded to give a detailed but succinct summary of the four Hogwarts houses. Harry was mollified to hear that there did not seem to be any bias in her description. She struck him as a very strict taskmaster almost at once. It appeared as if she would not be one to cross in the future.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school.” she was saying. “I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on the boy who had lost his toad. His cloak was fastened under his left ear. Ron's smudged nose also seemed to attract her attention. Harry glimpsed his twin trying madly to flatten his hair with no success. He could not help but smirk.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber.

They all got quite the scare a moment later when several ghosts floated straight through the wall, though they did not stay long. Within a matter of moments, Professor McGonagall had returned, and she quickly began to usher them into the Great Hall itself.

Harry heard his twin ask Ron if he knew how they were sorted as they walked, and to Harry's amusement, the boy answered with something about a troll. 

Harry didn’t know himself. It was not listed anywhere in Hogwarts, A History, but he was quite certain that was not it. In _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , it was said that trolls were known wizard killers. They were apparently a task for even a highly-skilled, fully grown wizard to take on. 

Harry very much doubted that any of them would be seeing a troll any time soon.

As they entered the Great Hall, Harry's breath really did catch this time. The vivid description in his book hadn’t done the place justice, though he seriously doubted any description could have done the job. 

The hall was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in mid-air over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up there so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

'Yes, you read,' thought Harry, who suspected a great deal of them had likely read that exact same passage. Even knowing about the charm, it was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall did not simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. Aunt Petunia wouldn’t have let it anywhere near the house.

Harry admitted mentally that he was baffled as to what they could possibly be using such an artefact for. That was until a rip on the brim opened like a mouth, and the hat miraculously began to sing. Its song, as it turned out, was yet another summary of the houses. As much as Harry liked McGonagall’s style, he had to admit, the hat was quite the salesman.

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So, we just have to put on the hat!" Harry heard Ron exclaim in outrage. "I'll kill Fred!" Despite his best efforts, Harry felt his lips twitch.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. Harry recognized the surname. There was an Abbott who was Head of the Department for The Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and the family was an Ancient and Noble one. There was a moment's pause...

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah. 

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers. Harry thought the Gryffindors looked like an awfully rowdy bunch.

"Bulstrode, Millicent." The large, plain girl whom Harry had sat with on the boat then became the first new Slytherin.

Harry was suddenly and painfully reminded of sports at school, where he was always chosen last. Not because he wasn't any good, but because people didn't want Dudley thinking they liked him.

'What if that happens here? What if it just doesn't sort me?'

'Don't be stupid!' a second voice said. ‘You're definitely going to be sorted!'

Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he replayed the second thought over and over again in his head, shoving down all thought to the contrary.

"Crabbe, Vincent" One of Malfoy's cronies from earlier became a Slytherin next.

"Davis, Tracey."

Harry noted the inconsistencies of the hat. Sometimes it decided right away. Other times, it took quite some time. Tracey was one of these cases. The hat sat on her head for almost three minutes before loudly proclaiming, "SLYTHERIN!" 

Harry felt a stab of empathy for her. He had been certain she wanted to avoid that option.

Malfoy's other crony — Goyle, became a Slytherin as well, and then Hermione Granger stepped up. The hat took an age with her, very nearly three and a half minutes, before it sent her off to Gryffindor. Harry could not help but notice she wore a rather pleased smile as she went.

"Greengrass, Daphne."

This sorting didn’t take nearly as long. Within less than thirty seconds it loudly called, "SLYTHERIN!"

Neville Longbottom, the boy with the elusory toad took longer than anybody, stretching on for nearly five minutes before he was sent to Gryffindor.

"Malfoy, Draco."

Harry found himself rather amused when the hat shouted "SLYTHERIN!" before it had even fully settled on Malfoy's head.

Theodore Nott, the thin, quiet boy from Harry's boat also joined Slytherin, as did Pansy Parkinson before another set of twins, Patil and Patil, were split up, one going to Ravenclaw, the other to Gryffindor.

"Potter, Charlus."

The room went completely quiet as Charlus strode confidently up to the stool. Even though Harry could tell he was nervous, he thought he hid it well.

"Potter, did they say?"

"Charlus Potter?"

"The Charlus Potter?"

"Gotta be Gryffindor!"

The hat took much longer with Charlus than Harry thought it would. He thought he seemed a very cut and dry Gryffindor, but the hat took nearly three minutes before sending the Boy-Who-Lived off to the house of the brave, accompanied by the loudest ovation he had heard thus far.

"Potter, Harry," Professor McGonagall called out at long last, prompting him to actually sigh as he stepped forward. He just wanted this over with.

Much like Charlus, muttering followed him up to the stool, though it was much more confused, almost taken aback in tone.

"Another Potter?"

"As in, Charlus Potter?"

"He has a brother?"

"Is he related to Charlus?"

"Since when does the Boy-Who-Lived have a brother?"

"He's not in any of the stories."

Harry did not know what that last one meant, and he had a sneaking suspicion he didn't want to, either. Keeping that in mind, he stepped forward instead of pondering on the comment. In the process, he earned a rare, encouraging smile from Professor McGonagall. He sat down and within seconds, his vision was obscured as she set the ancient hat atop his head.

'Hmmm,' said a small voice inside Harry's mind. 'Difficult, very difficult,' noted the hat. 'I thought you might be after seeing inside your brother's head. A fantastic mind — oh yes, one of the best I have seen in countless years — that memory does serve you well, doesn't it? And the potential… oh yes! Oh yes, you could be great, Harry Potter. You could be very great indeed. Now, where do I put you?"

Harry stayed silent, resigned to any option.

'Really?' Asked the hat. 'I expected you to be more difficult about this; your brother was quite stubborn, as a matter of fact.'

'I'm not my brother,' Harry thought back, trying to add venom to his thought, if such a thing was even possible.

'Oh, of that I am sure, don't you worry.' The hat chuckled. 'Now, to business. Hufflepuff is the easiest to eliminate. You have never known loyalty to appreciate it, and though it is something you seek in a friend, it is not a driving quality within you. You will be loyal to those you care for, but I suspect they will be a select few.'

That was fairly on point, in Harry’s estimation.

'The next three are the most difficult. You certainly have courage, oh yes — plenty of it, at that. You could not have made it through your life without some of it. But again, I sense it is not a driving force. You would not run head-long into danger unless you had a very good reason.”

'Point,' Harry conceded, smiling.

'That leaves two, and it was always going to be one of them, was it not? 

“With a mind like yours, any eagle would kill to call you a friend. You would define the values that Rowena cherished, and you would likely bring Ravenclaw glory it has not seen in several centuries. But I suspect you would become bored in that house rather quickly, and Slytherin would help you on your path to greatness, no doubt about that. Well, seeing as you are not being nearly as difficult about this as I feared you might be, better be "SLYTHERIN!"

Harry became almost instantly aware of deafening silence as he stood, passing his professor the hat as he inclined his head to her politely. She was one of the few in the room who did not seem overly surprised. She merely offered him a small, rather sad-looking smile as he made his way towards the silver and green table. His head was held high as his every footstep echoed off of the hard stone floor.

The other Slytherin first years were seated at the far end of the table, and the order was alphabetical. Sitting at the absolute end of the table were Bulstrode and Crabbe, sitting across from one another. To their right were Davis and Goyle, Greengrass and Malfoy were off to their right opposite each other, and beside them were Moon and Nott. Harry took the seat to the right of Lillian Moon, the place across from him was occupied by Pansy Parkinson, who did not seem thrilled by the arrangement.

Everyone at the table was completely silent. Harry glanced around the hall and noticed that almost everyone was staring at him. Of all of the stares, there were two sets of eyes that drew his attention. 

One was predictable. An intense, betrayed looking set of hazel eyes, looking for all intents and purposes as if Harry had just led them into a death trap. The other, Harry felt as if were burning a hole in the back of his head. He turned to meet the deep-blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles. Dumbledore looked rather contemplative, maybe even calculating, and Harry thought he too had a rather sad look about him.

A few seconds later, Professor McGonagall continued with the sorting. Charlus's friend, Ron, joined his twin in Gryffindor rather predictably, while the seat beside Harry was filled a moment later by the tall, dark skinned boy from the boat. Blaise Zabini was his name.

Just then, Harry realized that the owner of those intense, blue eyes had gotten to his feet. Albus Dumbledore was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our scrumptious banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are!

Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he… a bit mad?" he asked carefully.

Zabini chuckled from beside him. "Completely," he answered shortly, a small smirk on his face.

"Mad hardly does it justice," drawled Malfoy as food appeared in front of them from out of nowhere. Harry had to try very hard not to gawk; he imagined that would not be taken well by many of the purebloods around him. "Father has said for years that Dumbledore is losing it. He doesn't even think he's fit to run the school, you know." He sneered. "But, some families still believe in him and his greatness." Malfoy looked pointedly at Harry once he had finished drawing air quotes. "Your father is quite close to Dumbledore, isn't he, Potter?"

Harry met Malfoy's eyes and tried to pour as much contempt into his stare as he could. "I wouldn't know, Malfoy, I’ve had very little to do with my father in my life, and I would appreciate it if you would keep his name out of our conversations."

His voice was not impolite, but it definitely came out on the cooler side. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, but Harry shut him down quickly as he looked into the boy's grey eyes. Harry tried to convey, through his stare, how dangerous pursuing that particular bit of gossip could be. After a moment, he saw Malfoy flinch and he smiled, choosing now to begin piling food onto his plate. He seemed to be preparing far less food than everybody else, but after years of being starved half to death, he supposed that was not a surprise.

"I guess it would explain how you ended up here whilst your brother followed in your father's footsteps." Malfoy sounded like he wanted to add a lot more of his personal opinions regarding said steps, but he didn’t. "Didn't have time for you, Potter? Too busy with the Boy-Who-Lived?" It wasn't quite an insult; his voice didn't carry enough intent for that. It was somewhere between teasing and a not-so-subtle jab. In any case, it was far too close to the truth for Harry's liking, and he knew he had to bite back with something or that comment would drive him mad.

"Something like that, yes," he answered flatly. "I suppose you wouldn't know much about that, would you, Malfoy. Your father has had quite a lot of time with you since his schedule cleared up all those years ago."

The tension at the table thickened as Malfoy's eyes sharpened and his jaw tightened for a second, but he didn’t take the bait. "He still keeps busy enough," he remarked, "but he always makes time for those who matter." He met Harry's eye and there was a spark of challenge there.

“I’m sure he does," Harry said amiably. "I just hope his judgement is sound. It would be a shame if he picked the wrong friends again." Malfoy scowled. In Harry’s mind, this merely meant he was conceding the point.

Harry turned to look at the staff table. He had felt a stare again and he assumed it would be Dumbledore's, but it wasn't. Instead, the set of eyes that had been examining him belonged to a sallow-skinned man with a rather hooked nose and long sheets of greasy black hair that framed his face. His eyes were black, and Harry was reminded of dark, endless tunnels. There was something in those eyes. At first, Harry thought he recognized it as disgust or loathing; he had seen it in the eyes of his relatives enough to recall it. 

A split second later though, the look was different. It was one of surprise, though it was only there for the briefest of moments. Harry raised an eyebrow and tried to push past his eyes and glean his thoughts. To his dismay, nothing came of his efforts. He thought that maybe, witches and wizards had a sort of immunity to the ability? At least to an extent.

He glanced to the man's side, his eyes landing on a woman with light brown hair that flowed over one of her shoulders and who wore simple black robes. When Harry looked at her, he felt a sharp stab of pain right where his scar was and he winced, just managing not to cry out.

"Something bothering you, Potter?" Malfoy asked coolly.

"No," he lied, "just a headache."

He waited to make sure Malfoy was busy chatting with Nott to his right before he leaned across the table towards Parkinson, suspecting she was likely well connected enough to answer his question. "Who are those two?" he asked, subtly indicating the two teachers.

Pansy seemed to swell at the question, as if knowing something Harry did not gave her great pride. When she answered, she sounded surprisingly modest. "The man is Professor Snape. He's our Head of House and teaches Potions." She deflated a bit when her eyes flickered to the woman. "I don't know who she is. She must be new. Probably the defence teacher. The position's cursed, you know?"

"Cursed?" asked Harry, peering curiously back at the pureblood witch, who seemed completely in her element now.

"Oh yes!" she said, her voice finally taking on an air of smugness and superiority. "They haven't managed to keep a professor for more than a year since the mid 1960s. Something ALWAYS happens to the defence professor!"

That was certainly interesting. "Thank you," said Harry, to which Parkinson nodded curtly. Harry spent the majority of his meal in silence, choosing to simply evaluate his peers. After a time, desserts appeared, and Harry enjoyed some for the first time in his life. After a while, they too vanished, and Dumbledore was on his feet again, his arms spread wide as if to embrace the entire hall.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of yet another pair of twins at the Gryffindor table.

Harry wondered if twins were somehow more likely in the magical world. Seriously, this was getting ridiculous!

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the Caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"This year, Hogwarts has the pleasure of welcoming an extremely bright young woman by the name of Amelia Hurst onto its staff, as she will be taking up the honourable role of the Defence Against The Dark Arts professo.”

There was some clapping as the tall, slim woman with the light brown hair, dark-green eyes, and well-defined features briefly swept gracefully to her feet, but there were more mutters than anything else.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Pansy Parkinson's laughter could be heard over that of most, but Harry didn’t laugh. Instead, his eyes narrowed upon the headmaster, and he was sure that there was more truth to Dumbledore's statement than anyone knew.

"Guess you were right, Draco," giggled Parkinson. "He really must be mad."

"No," Harry said softly, drawing almost everyone's attention to him as he narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore "no, he is being serious — dead serious."

Zabini nodded slowly, but everyone else looked sceptical. "And how, pray tell, would you know that?" asked Malfoy, who, along with Nott, looked most sceptical of all.

"Just a hunch," admitted Harry, "you're welcome to go investigate if you think I'm wrong." Malfoy sneered; he clearly had no intention of doing such a thing.

"And with that cheerful note," said Dumbledore loudly, causing the chatter to die down almost at once, "I think it is time for bed!"

They all stood, but as they did so, an older student approached them. He was maybe a third or fourth year. "The halfblood is having you on, Draco," he dismissed, looking disdainfully down at Harry. "He has no idea what he's talking about. He shouldn't even be in our house, let alone trying to screw with you. You should lose the cheek, Potter. It won't get you very far in this house."

"I think I’m free to speak how I like, thank you," said Harry politely. Despite the polite tone of voice, his eyes gleamed with a fair bit of defiance. As much as Harry knew the smart thing was probably keeping his head down, he had always harboured a defiant streak, one that wanted to be shown now that he was well away from Privet Drive.

"Do you?" the other boy asked cruelly, sounding amused. “Shitty for you that the opinions of a halfblood hardly matter, do they?” the large boy took a step closer to Harry, who did not give him an inch. "You can choose your enemies better, Potter." He warned. "You don't want me as one of them. Lose your mouth."

"Back off, Macnair," said a smooth, confident voice that drew everyone's attention. It belonged to a tall girl with dirty blonde hair and enchanting, almost magnetic bluish-silver eyes. She wore a Prefects badge on her chest and looked completely at ease as she addressed Macnair.

It was the girl from the train station. The one that Charlotte and her mother were watching

“Leave the first years alone; it makes you seem as if you need an easy boost to your ego." The girl's small smile made it perfectly evident to all present that she knew that was exactly what he needed, but she didn't need to say it.

Harry had to admire the way she had done that; so innocent on the surface, yet so cutting and filled with implications. The boy scowled but didn't say anything back. Instead, he ducked his head and walked the other way. Harry's eyebrows rose for a moment.

It was such a sudden submission.

The girl looked at all of them. "First years over there with the fifth year prefects, Rhea and Daniel." She indicated a thin boy with very pale skin and soft, aristocratic features as well as a brunette girl who seemed to be the leader out of the two of them.

They all went to go in that direction when Harry felt a sudden weight on his shoulder and tensed, looking around to see that the girl had rested a firm hand on his shoulder. "I'd like a word with you, Potter," she said. 

Harry felt rather uncomfortable with her hand on him but didn't say anything. He just nodded and allowed her to guide him back into the antechamber in which they had entered and out a different exit. This one was hidden behind a life-sized portrait which swung easily aside when tapped with a wand. Only then, as they walked down a concealed staircase that was near pitch-black did she remove her hand from his shoulder and speak for the first time.

"A bit of free advice, you are going to need to tread rather carefully in Slytherin. Your brother doesn't exactly have a shining reputation with a lot of our house, and your blood status only worsens your case."

"I figured as much," Harry said as they came out into a real corridor, one that was colder and seemed somehow drearier.

'The dungeons.' he realized.

"Treading carefully is one option," she continued, "but there are others. You will soon learn that our house is driven very much by politics. There are ways to gain respect, or if you prefer to remain low-key — protection."

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, his suspicion growing by the second. This girl was at the top of the political ladder. He knew that without affirmation; Macnair's reaction had confirmed it. He couldn't quite understand why she was taking time to warn him.

She shrugged. "I don’t like Macnair and his group of thugs. I would hate to see their egos inflated over brutalizing some first year."

Harry knew that there was definitely more to it than that.

They turned a corner a moment later and made their way down a corridor filled with a myriad of serpentine decor. Harry thought it rather simple, but rather ingenious when they didn’t stop. Instead they continued through several more corridors before stopping at a stretch of wall that looked much like any other.

A clever diversion.

The wall slid aside like a muggle sliding door with a tap of her wand. They were the first to arrive in the low-ceilinged room that seemed to be lit by a dull, green light. They could see straight into the depths of what Harry assumed was the black lake.

"I never got your name," he commented as the girl made to take a seat on one of the two long couches on either side of the fire, directly in front of it. 

She paused in mid-stride, turning to face him. "That's because I never gave it." she quipped, her eyes scanning over him for a moment before she held out her hand. "Grace Weitts, Heiress of the House of Weitts."

Despite the lack of the "Ancient and Most Noble" title, the Weitts family was one of the most powerful in Magical Britain. They were the co-leaders of the neutral faction along with the Greengrass family. Along with the Greengrasses, Blacks, and Malfoys, they were one of the richest families in Magical Britain according to estimates in Nature's Nobility: A Guide To Wizarding Genealogy. What made this so impressive was the fact that they had only been in Britain for a few generations at most, and no one knew where they had come from or how they had risen to prominence so quickly.

"Well met, Heiress Weitts. I’m Harry Potter," he said, taking her outstretched hand; her grip was rather firm, "Heir to The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter."

Her eyebrows rose for just a second. "And you're the heir?" she asked, a small smile sliding onto her face. "My my, Potter, you are just full of surprises, aren't you?"

Just then, the door slid open once more, and the other first years entered behind their prefects. They all made to move towards the dormitories but paused when an oily voice spoke from the shadows, making a few of them jump.

"Good evening."

Professor Snape stepped into the torchlight; his face completely impassive as he stared at each of them in turn. His eyes rested for what Harry felt like was a fraction of a second too long upon him.

"Welcome to the noble house of Salazar Slytherin," he hissed in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "This house has its values and traditions to uphold, and I expect each of you to do so." His eyes again rested on Harry, though they flicked away just as quickly. "One of this house’s key attributes is ambition. Therefore, I expect each of you to strive for greatness. I shall accept nothing less." Several of the first years shifted uncomfortably, but not Harry. "This house will grant you every asset you could possibly wish for along your journey, assuming you are not crushed under its weight," he continued. "In the end, it rests upon yourselves to carve out your own path, uphold the standards of Slytherin house and further your own legacy.

"I expect nothing but excellence in every sense of the word from each of you. Meeting my admittedly lofty expectations will be rewarded, and I shall do what I deem prudent to help you along your way as your Head of House." His eyes hardened and yet again found Harry's, though this time they stayed on him as he spoke. "Failure to fulfil your potential, and actions that I believe will lead you to such failure will result in repercussions and… disciplinary actions." His eyes swept over the lot of them one final time. "I expect nothing but the best, and I expect you all to be up to the task. Do not disappoint me." 

And with that he turned, his robes billowing as if caught in a sudden breeze as he swept from the common room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Another fairly standard chapter. Though again, necessary in furthering the plot, building the world, and such.**
> 
> **Some portions of this chapter were taken directly from Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone. It goes without saying that I own none of the said portions, and they were simply used to add to the feel of the story. This will be happening less as the story progresses.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, March 14th, 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised on September 8th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl, rawmeat898 and TauNeutrino.**


	4. The Building of Foundations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
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__**September 2, 1991  
The Slytherin Dorms  
5:43 AM**

Harry had always been an early riser. At least since he had taken up residence with the Dursleys. He had never been given much of a choice in the matter. It had been expected of him to be up and have breakfast made by the time the next member of the house had escaped the grasp of Morpheus. Needless to say, he had been conditioned to be awake quite early. So it came as no surprise to him when he woke up the next morning and tapped his wand on his wrist, muttering “Tempus” under his breath and causing the time to display in front of him in analogue form. 

He had been quite tired the night before and crashed pretty much as soon as his head made contact with the plush pillow that he had been provided with. Now, contrary to the previous night, Harry felt more alert and energized than he could perhaps ever remember feeling. 

As quietly as he could, Harry slid out of his bed, thanking go… Merlin that he had not had his usual nightmares. He hardly wanted to cry out in the middle of the night in front of those whom he knew to be vultures practically waiting to strike. He was sure there was a spell to ensure that no sound escaped past his curtains, but if there was, it wasn’t taught in first year. He knew all of the first-year spells, and nothing even remotely like what he needed was among them. 

Resigning himself to searching the library later in the day- something he had already planned on doing anyway- Harry slipped out of his bed and quickly gathered up some of his clothes before slipping off to the bathroom. Upon entering, Harry could not help but be awed at the room. It was absolutely massive, with a tiled marble floor and taps in the shape of serpent heads. The house emblem was emblazoned in emerald in the centre of the floor. Idly, Harry wondered if every bathroom in the ancient castle was anywhere close to this luxurious.

Stepping into the shower, he marvelled at the perfect water. He had read in Hogwarts, A History, that all of the taps within the castle adapted the temperature of the water to the desire of the shower’s occupant. Or, in the case of the sinks, whoever was using it at that time. How such a thing was achieved, Harry didn’t know, though he intended to one day find out. It sounded like an extremely useful enchantment to know. 

Harry didn’t take long to shower. Having never been given the luxury of doing so all his life, he fell easily into old habits. He was quickly back in the dormitory to grab his enchanted school bag carrying both bottomless and featherlight charms. Once it was in his possession, he swiftly made his way down into the common room. It was still lit by what he assumed was ever-present, almost ethereal looking green light coming from the lake outside. 

His first instinct was to take a seat in the comfortable looking lounge area nearest the still blazing fire, but he hesitated. He thought back to the night previous when the lounge had been left completely unoccupied by everyone until his escort, Grace Weitts, entered the common room. She had claimed it along with some of her friends, one of whom had been the fifth-year prefect who had escorted the rest of Harry’s year mates down into the common room. 

He remembered suspecting the sway and influence that Grace had within the house. With that in mind, he could not help but assume that the lounge was reserved for those of a higher political standing within the house itself. It was likely an unwritten rule of some sort.

Having no desire to alienate himself from the rest of the house so quickly, Harry took a seat near, but not too near the fire in a large, comfortable armchair before he reached into his bag and took out his book, _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts._ He hadn’t had the opportunity to read much if any of it on the train the day before. As of yet, he wasn’t far into the book, but he found the stories of dark magic and, in particular, dark lords to be rather interesting. It was almost like a muggle fiction novel brought to life.

With the help of his unworldly memory, he’d read a great deal of the book when he heard a soft, cool voice speak from in front of him. “Eager to begin our education, are we?”

Recognizing the voice, Harry decided caution was his best vice as he peered up from his book and met those bluish-silver eyes that had so enchanted him the day before. “I’ve never been much of a late sleeper, if I’m being honest.” 

“You’ll find that a habit like that will make you quite unique in this house,” Grace commented as she deliberately made her way towards him, glancing at the book that now laid still open in his lap. “History, Potter? Of all the subjects you could be studying?”

“It has nothing to do with studying. You can call it a personal interest of mine. I’ve always been interested in history.” 

“Have you?” Grace asked with a small smile. “Well, I suppose that interest of yours will be tested by our most esteemed history professor.” 

Harry frowned. “What’s wrong with the history professor?”

“Aside from the fact that he’s dead,” Grace said casually, causing Harry’s eyes to widen for a second before he took control of the impulse once more, “he is dull to the point of being painfully so. He also doesn’t pay attention to anything aside from the notes in his hand. Plenty of students sleep in his class and just read the textbook on their own time. He has never noticed any of them.”

“Duly noted. I might have to look into that.”

“Be careful, Potter. You shouldn’t imply plans to misbehave in front of a prefect.”

“I think you’ll keep my secret.”

“Do you? Interesting. I fail to see how you would so easily trust somebody you know so little about?”

Harry just smiled pleasantly back at her. “It isn’t your personality that convinces me. I’m not thick enough to convince myself I know enough about you to judge. It’s your standing. You don’t get to that point without having certain traits.”

“Oh?” she asked, seeming truly intrigued for the first time.

“This is the house of cunning. It’s not that hard to piece together that you obviously fit that trait if you’re standing in the house is so high. Nobody with an ounce of cunning would want to make an enemy of an Heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House without a very good reason.”

“Maybe, but what do I need of your clout and potential political power? Our families are not aligned within the same faction anyway. And I currently possess just as much clout as the Weitts Heiress as you do being the Potter Heir.”

“That can change. And just because you don’t need the clout doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be interested in it. Especially considering we’re in the house of the ambitious.”

Grace laughed softly, shaking her head as she peered at Harry with more interest. “It looks like we have all underestimated you, Potter. I had wondered if your choice of seat was coincidental, but now I’m sure it wasn’t, was it?” Harry shook his head, to which Grace chuckled again. “You are very perceptive, and a fast learner as well. I will grant you that.” 

He supposed that if she was complimenting him, it was a decent enough start.

Grace took her seat in the dead centre of the lounge area, pulled a book from her own bag and began to read, prompting Harry to do the same. 

It was a while later when the first few students began making their way down into the common room. Some second years were the first to arrive, followed by the large girl from Harry’s year — Bulstrode. After her was the Zabini boy, who made his way over towards Harry.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he asked politely, causing Harry to shake his head as Zabini took his seat. “Ah,” he said after eyeing Harry’s choice of reading material, “I see I won’t be the only one interested in history.”

“Likewise, I guess,” said Harry, still not looking up from his book and therefore failing to notice the small smirk that played across Zabini’s lips. 

Nott was the next in the common room, followed by Lillian Moon, a small, blonde girl who had seemed to keep mostly to herself. She was followed by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, and then the three girls, Greengrass, Davis, and Parkinson also made their way down together. Harry noticed Malfoy shoot a quick glance towards the trio of girls as he was putting away his book and catalogued that away.

“First years,” came the voice of Grace’s fifth-year prefect friend. Rhea, her name had been. “We’ll lead you to the Great Hall this morning. From here on out, you will be expected to make it to mealtimes on your own. Are we understood?” They all nodded. 

Rhea, being accompanied by Grace and a few others led the lot of them up to the Great Hall. Harry quickly made note of the route, thanking Merlin for his near eidetic memory. He would never have had a chance of remembering this maze without it. Not on the first day, anyway.

When they entered the hall, they were some of the first to do so. They all took seats at the far end of the table once more. The spot seemed to be designated for them. This time, alphabetical order was seemingly not necessary. 

Harry found himself sitting beside Blaise Zabini and across from Lillian Moon. He did notice that Malfoy, and by extension, Crabbe and Goyle took seats further up the table alongside the Macnair boy from the first night and his group of friends. They had clearly been beckoned over before making their move.

How interesting that the only way to break out of the designation appeared to be by earning the favour of older students.

It was a smooth system. Not only would it serve as a fair test of politics for the first years, but it would easily let the upper years observe and evaluate them. Harry actually smiled at the trap that was the system that had been laid out for them. Whoever had set it up Merlin only knew how long ago had played the game well.

He knew he should eat something, so he piled a measly amount of fruit onto a small plate and pulled it in front of him. He wasn’t used to anywhere near three meals a day, so he was well aware of the fact that, at least in the beginning, he would need to pace himself in terms of his consumption habits. 

He felt a stare burrowing into him just as the muttering in the hall rose. He was intent on ignoring it, but Zabini had other ideas. 

“You have an admirer,” he muttered with some amusement, causing Harry to glance over his shoulder. It was a pair of deep, hazel eyes that still watched him with a large amount of betrayal prevalent within them.

“You have a very loose definition of the word admirer, Zabini.”

“When it suits my purposes,” the boy answered quietly and with a smirk.Harry just shook his head exasperatedly. 

He watched his brother intently. For a moment, he actually feared the Boy-Who-Lived would make a scene, but he didn’t. He instead allowed Weasley to drag him to the Gryffindor table, though not before he threw a look towards Harry that could wither a plant.

“I doubt even you can honestly call him an admirer,” Harry commented with even more dryness than before, which caused Blaise to chuckle. 

“No,” he admitted, “that would make me look a bit daft, wouldn’t it?

Harry didn’t answer the rhetorical question. Instead, he chose to open his book once more and continue to eat his fruit. Sometime later, their Head of House, Professor Snape, swept along and distributed timetables. When Harry’s landed in front of him without a word, he quickly pulled it towards him, reading it over and committing it to memory all in one go.

‘So, Snape first then,’ he thought. The man had given him rather odd vibes the night before. He was interested if a bit apprehensive at how the man would conduct himself in his role as professor. 

“I wonder if the rumours about Snape are true,” Zabini mused beside Harry, as if he could read his mind, making him peer curiously at the other boy. 

“What rumours?”

“Everybody seems to say he favours Slytherins. As in, very blatantly favours Slytherins.”

Harry shrugged. “Good for us if it’s true, I guess.”

“I’ve heard the same,” Lillian said quietly from across the table. Blaise smiled and nodded at her.

Harry stood five minutes later, packing his book and timetable into his bag as he slung it over his shoulder. It was best to reach the classroom quickly and on time. He also had no desire to meet his brother on the way. That was a confrontation that he would rather save for a later date. 

Thankfully, Snape’s classroom was attached to his office and was therefore labelled with his name. Even more thankfully for Harry, the door was unlocked, so he quickly slid inside and took a seat near the back. He never had trusted easily. The idea of people sitting behind him was one that he was not entirely comfortable with.

Greengrass and Davis were the next two students to enter the room. They both took seats directly in front of Harry before the other students started filtering in. To Harry’s amusement, almost the entirety of his year from Slytherin had entered the room before the first Gryffindors who were not named Hermione Granger made their entrance. What may have amused him more still was that his brother and Weasley were the last two students to enter the classroom, rushing in and quickly glancing around as they did so. 

They were late. Not blatantly so, but the bell had rung a minute or so earlier.

“Thank Merlin Snape isn’t here,” breathed out Weasley as he clutched at a stitch in his side.

“Yeah,” said Charlus, smiling and seeming far less winded than his friend, “that would have been…” but then he paused as his hazel eyes landed on Harry, who had Zabini sitting beside him. 

The boy’s face went through several stages of both colour and expression before he began to march his way over to him. For his part, Harry’s face never changed as he continued to gaze upon his brother with perfect neutrality. 

“Harry,” said Charlus, and his voice carried the obvious note of betrayal, “why… Slytherin… why?”

“You can thank Father next time you see him for that,” Harry said with no real emotion. After sorting out his feelings on the matter, he had decided that his more “Slytherin traits” had likely manifested as a direct result of necessity while living under the roof of the Dursleys.

Charlus’s face suddenly took on a red tinge. “You’re blaming dad?” he asked incredulously. Harry merely stared back in return. Charlus shook his head, looking disgusted. “Maybe you do belong in Slytherin,” he said with some distaste, making the sentence sound as if it were the worst insult he could possibly come up with. “Blaming dad for stuff like that would be about right.”

“If he didn’t abandon me,” Harry said in a voice quiet enough not to carry to the rest of the class, “I wouldn’t have to say it at all.”

“How could you say that?” Charlus hissed, looking furious now. “He-he regrets it so much… more than anything.” Charlus shook his head again. “When-when he finds out you’re in Slytherin... He’ll blame himself; he’ll feel awful.”

Harry didn’t dignify his brother’s response with words. He just raised an eyebrow, as if asking what Charlus’s point was.

“You really do belong in Slytherin!” His brother’s words had more heat and conviction this time around. “You don’t accept responsibility for anything, do you?”

“And you really do belong in Gryffindor,” Harry bit back evenly. “All impulsiveness and no critical thinking. You just see the world exactly how you want it to be.” 

Vaguely, Harry noted the hypocrisy of that fact. Charlus was in the house that prided itself on acceptance, but he decided not to ponder on that for too long.

Many of the Slytherins hid smirks, snickers, or other humorous reactions. Crabbe and Goyle both just guffawed openly. The Gryffindors all looked offended to varying degrees, but none of them had time to say anything before the classroom door slammed open, and Slytherin’s Head of House swept into the classroom. His cloak billowed behind him in a bat-like manner as he stopped in mid-stride, casting a contemptuous glare towards Charlus.

“Three points from Gryffindor for deplorable behaviour, Potter. I would expect any civilized child with even an ounce of dignity to await the beginning of class in their seats. Not to accost other students before the bell has even sounded. Then again,” he added with an almost cruel smile, “I suppose the unfortunate traits I have mentioned can be expected from one in your… situation.”

“Are you insulting my father?” bit out Charlus.

Snape sneered. “I would never dare,” he said with a curled lip. “An insult is to bring to light a person's more disposable qualities.” Snape allowed his lip to curl even further. “I assure you, I speak of the least deplorable qualities that manifested inside of your father’s over-inflated head. 

“Now,” he snapped before Charlus could say another word, “sit down.” Charlus did so, but he was shaking with rage as he glared openly at their professor. “I hope that the rest of you have not modelled yourself too closely after our new… celebrity.” 

Most of the Slytherins snickered once more before falling truly silent for the first time.

Snape allowed his eyes to roam over each of them. They paused for a nearly imperceptible amount of time too long on both Harry and Charlus, something that caused Harry’s eyes to narrow.

So last night definitely hadn’t been a coincidence, then.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." Their professor spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word - Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I do not expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Harry saw Charlus and Ron exchange looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn’t a dunderhead.

Snape then took out his attendance and began to read the names, pausing when he came to that of Charlus. “Two Potters,” he drawled, “I dare say Hogwarts has never seen such dark times as are undoubtedly on the horizon.” Snape smirked cruelly as much of Slytherin snickered for a third time. 

Harry silently cursed his father once more. He had no idea what the man had done to his Head of House. If Snape, who was apparently notorious for his blatant favouritism towards Slytherin was mocking a member of his own house openly as a result of his actions, it must have been bad, whatever it was.

“I am, however, most curious as to how two children of similar stock could possibly end up on two opposite ends of a most telling spectrum. I think we have in front of us an excellent opportunity to test the theory of nature versus nurture.” 

The class remained perfectly silent.

“Potter,” the professor snapped suddenly, frowning when both Harry and Charlus turned towards him with two completely different visages. “Gryffindor Potter,” he elaborated. “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Charlus looked stumped, but Hermione Granger’s hand shot quickly into the air, something that caused Harry to frown. He’d read that one should only raise their hand if they had a question or if the teacher had posed one to the class. To do so when another student was asked a direct question, especially when said student was a pureblood, was considered very disrespectful. It implied that you didn’t think the student capable of answering.

“I’d look in your potions cabinet,” Charlus answered dryly. Much of Gryffindor laughed and for Snape’s lip to curl. 

“Two points for your cheek, Potter.” Charlus glared at Snape and looked as if he would say something, but he was never given the chance. “Let us try a question that falls in a similar vein but one that cannot be deflected with such a poor attempt at humour. What, Potter, is a bezoar?”

Granger’s hand rose again, but Charlus seemed intent on continuing to dig himself a hole. “No idea. Definitely not a hair care product. You clearly don’t own any of those.” 

The class went dead silent. 

“Ten points from Gryffindor for blatant disrespect of your superiors,” Snape said softly. “And I believe a detention this Saturday would be most… elucidating for you. Perhaps then, you may even be able to recognize them.” 

“I know who my superiors are.” Clearly, Charlus had no idea when to stop. “You’re not one of them.” 

“And one on Sunday as well, just to ensure the message... sinks in.” Snape’s voice was tinged with venom as he turned his icy glare towards Harry. “Now, let us see if your brother is as pathetic a representation of an ancient and noble bloodline as yourself. Slytherin Potter, answer me the same questions your terrifically incompetent twin failed to answer.”

“Of course, Professor,” Harry said with well-practiced politeness, taking the time to smirk at his brother for his, as Snape put it, incompetence. “A bezoar is a stone formed from the bodily fluids of a goat that can cure most poisons. To find it, you would look in the goat’s stomach.” He looked at the Gryffindors on the opposite side of the room who, in many cases, were either glaring openly at him or looking stunned. “It was on the first page of chapter two,” he added helpfully, doing his utmost best to add insult to his brother’s injury. 

Snape’s face remained impassive. “Correct on both counts.” He whirled back towards the Gryffindor side of the room. “Incompetent Potter,” he snapped, causing Charlus to flush in anger, “what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?”

“No idea.” gritted out Charlus. “Maybe one goes in your morning tea to make sure you stay a complete wanker and the other goes in your hair to keep it nice and greasy.” 

Harry immediately realized that Charlus had finally gone a step too far as Snape scowled. “I think, Incompetent Potter, that we shall take a stroll up to the Headmaster’s office come the conclusion of this class.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Snape’s lip curled again. “I am afraid I never granted you a choice in the matter.” Harry could have sworn he heard Charlus mutter “we’ll see” under his breath, but he couldn’t be sure. 

Predictably Snape whirled to face him once more. “Potentially Competent Potter,” he addressed, almost causing Harry to snort, “can you enlighten your brother as to the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?”

Harry smiled. “I don’t think I can, sir. A better question would be if I could enlighten my brother on the lack of differences between the two.”

“Explain!” 

“Monkshood and Wolfsbane are the exact same plant; a poisonous variety known as aconite.”

Snape nodded curtly. “I see one of the two Potters has progressed admirably far into his copy of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi._ Even if in the case of his brother, books seem as if they are a foreign concept.

“Your task is to brew an acceptable potion to cure boils, working with the person sat next to you. I expect a flask of the finished product on my desk by the end of the lesson.” He waved his wand towards the board. “The instructions are written on the board.” 

“Unless you have a better idea, I’ll go and get the ingredients while you set up the cauldron,” Harry proposed.

Zabini nodded from beside him. “That sounds acceptable.” 

By the time he got back, Zabini had the cauldron set up, and it was boiling ever closer to the correct temperature.

“Any idea how good you are with potions?” 

“Above average,” Zabini assured, causing Harry to internally thank the deities for his luck.

“I’ll prepare all of the ingredients if you add them and tend to the cauldron.”

The boy shrugged. “Sounds like a fair exchange to me.”

They worked in companionable silence for much of the class, with Harry taking great care with their supply of ingredients and Zabini managing to follow Snape’s instructions without issue. Nothing of real note happened until about halfway through the class. 

An explosion shook the dungeon and within seconds of looking up, most of the class were on their chairs in order to avoid the liquid that was spilling all over the floor. It was very clearly pouring from Longbottom’s and Finnigan’s melted cauldron. The concoction seemed to be incapable of removing boils, though it seemed to be giving Longbottom some pretty nasty ones. 

Snape rounded on the boys and as discreetly as Harry could, he began carefully filtering the mess of a potion off the floor and into several vials. The only person who seemed to notice was Zabini, who looked almost appreciative. As odd as the thought was, Harry suspected a potion that looked rather painful and could be absorbed through the skin could prove rather useful in the future, even if it were completely useless for curing boils.

“Idiot boy! I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off of the fire?” Snape scowled at the pair of them and addressed Finnigan next. “Take him to the hospital wing.” He waved his wand, causing the rest of the potion to vanish and prompting Harry to stand up, pocketing the two vials he had managed to procure with a satisfied smile whilst Snape glared daggers at Charlus and Weasley. “Incompetent Potter,” he spat, “why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he would make you look good if he ruined his potion, did you? That will be yet another five points from Gryffindor.”

Harry saw Charlus make to speak up, but he didn’t. Clearly, Weasley had enough sense to keep his twin quiet. Harry knew such a thing was blatantly unfair, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care much for the situation.

The next event took place not five minutes later when Greengrass marched confidently up to the front of the class and presented Snape a vial of clearly perfect potion with a third of the allotted time remaining. A rather smug looking grin was plastered on her face.

“How the hell?” Harry muttered under his breath, a sentiment that Zabini quietly agreed to with a nod. 

By the time class had ended, Harry and Zabini were one of a few groups to hand in what seemed like perfect potions, something that would have made Harry a lot happier if Greengrass hadn’t done the same thing twenty minutes earlier than them. He could almost feel her superior smirk directed at their backs as Harry handed in their potion to Snape, who took it with a blank expression. Harry felt as if the Potions Master was straining every muscle in his face in order to suppress Merlin only knew what expression.

The bell rang soon after and Harry and the other Slytherins made their way out of the dungeons and began on their ascent up to the charms’ corridor for their first lesson in the subject for the year. As he left the dungeons classroom, Harry did not fail to notice that neither his brother nor Ron Weasley were present. He silently commended his twin for somehow managing to slip past Snape, even if he did so begrudgingly. 

Harry had no idea how to get to the Charms Classroom, but he thought following the rest of the crowd was a fairly safe bet. If worse came to worst, he doubted their charms professor would dock points from the entire class for being late. It turned out that most of them were late, as it was a rather long trek from Potions to Charms. Harry suspected those without near eidetic memories may end up late for the first couple of Mondays. 

His other assumption also held true though, as Professor Flitwick, a diminutive man who needed to stand on several books just to see over his desk, took the whole event in good spirits. 

“Good morning, everyone, and welcome to your first Charms lesson here at Hogwarts! My name is Professor Flitwick and I am the Charms professor and Head of Ravenclaw house!” After his introduction, Flitwick took roll, pausing almost curiously at Harry’s name before putting down the attendance and looking at them all far more seriously.

“To put it simply, Charms very well may be the most important subject we teach at this school and I assure you, my own biases towards the subject have no impact on that statement. Charms is, in my humble opinion, the most versatile branch of magic, as Charms can be used to achieve almost anything a witch or wizard would like. The subject has applications in self-defence, household upkeep, day to day tasks, leisure activities, and almost anything else you could come up with.

“Charms is also one of the five foundational branches of magic. Can anybody tell me the other four?”

Harry’s hand hit the air first, and Flitwick pointed to him eagerly. “Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Potions, and Transfiguration.” 

“Very good, Master Potter, very good indeed. Take three points to Slytherin. Now, can anyone tell me why these five branches of magic are called foundational?”

Harry’s hand hit the air first once more. To her credit, Greengrass was not far behind him. Flitwick pointed to her this time, and Greengrass recited without preamble: “They’re foundational branches because one of, or a combination of the branches is needed to perform any task using magic.”

Flitwick‘s smile only grew. “Correct, Miss Greengrass! Take five points for Slytherin on top of the three from a moment ago. Yes,” he continued, “needless to explain anymore, Charms is extremely important, and it is a subject I thoroughly encourage each and every one of you to continue after fifth year if you have earned the opportunity. Speaking of which, the expectations in this class…” 

And the lesson continued. 

No practical magic was performed that day aside from Flitwick making objects fly around the room as a demonstration of what was to come. The lesson was spent entirely as a lecture, both for expectations, future lessons, a yearly outline, and a bit on the correct grip on one's wand for Charms and some other safety measures. What was equally unfortunate was the fact that Flitwick became the second of two professors to assign them prep, his being six inches on safety measures in his class. 

Harry had already come to the conclusion that the year would be a rather easy one, at least in that subject. He could already perform the Levitation Charm with no issue at all. The same went for the Colour Changing Charm and a fair few others. He suspected he had already reached Christmas break, if not further in terms of the practical portion of the curriculum, and the entirety of first year in terms of theory. Absently, he wondered just how far ahead he could actually get.

They had lunch next, and though Harry definitely ate more than he had at breakfast, he spent most of that time with his nose in the potions book. He was trying to find what Greengrass possibly could have done differently, but his search came up empty. Harry’s mood had dimmed considerably by the end of lunch. For the first time in the magical world, his research had been fruitless. 

His low spirits didn’t last long, as now, he was walking into the class that he may have been most excited about — Defence Against the Dark Arts, and a double period at that. Nothing was known about the professor, but Harry was eager for the subject and he really did hope she was competent. 

Competent she was.

When they entered the room, Professor Hurst was sitting behind her desk, reading from a book that did not seem to have a cover. She glanced up briefly, smiling quickly at them before going back to her book. A quick glance around the classroom didn’t reveal a whole lot about the woman at all, as the room had been left almost completely barren. Harry suspected that if she had gone to Hogwarts in her time, she had been a Slytherin.

When they had all entered and the bell had rung, the professor got to her feet, and Harry saw none of the shyness that some may expect from a new professor.

“Welcome,” she said in a smooth, confident voice, a small, almost twisted smile adorning her lips, “to Defence Against the Dark Arts.” The loving tone in which she spoke the name of her subject took Harry aback, but the obvious charisma the woman carried caught his attention immediately. 

“I have little doubt that professors Snape and Flitwick have already lectured you as to the importance of their subject but let me ask you this. What is more important to you; speeding up household tasks that could be performed easily, if admittedly tediously without a wand? Brewing potions that could admittedly be quite useful? Or making sure that no matter the situation, you are prepared? Making sure that you are both powerful and competent enough to ensure your safety within the magical world?” Several people were nodding along with the woman, and Harry found himself chief amongst them. 

The way the professor spoke… it was as if she were drawing them all in, placing them in a kind of trance. 

“To defend against the Dark Arts,” Hurst continued, “one must understand the scope of which they are fighting.” Her lips twitched again, but she did not elucidate as to why. “The Dark Arts are a monstrous branch of magic themselves. They are ever-changing, ever-evolving, and endless in their applications and possibilities in the hands of a sorcerer who has mastered their mind, their magic, and their intent. It is like fighting a battalion of warriors who are all prodigies in their fields, but without knowing which fields they all specialize in. 

“That is to say, your defence must be flexible, ever-evolving as the Arts in which they are to defend you from, and if you can make them so, creative and multi-purposed. In my eyes, a spell's power is not necessarily measured by the damage it can cause, or the solidity of the protection it offers as much as it is measured by how many ways the spell can cause damage, or how many ways the spell can protect you.”

Harry was enraptured now. Everything Hurst said resonated with him and he found his anticipation for the class growing by the second. 

“I will not be teaching you the complexities of the Dark Arts.” Harry swore he could detect an undertone of regret, perhaps even an apologetic note in her voice. “The Ministry is rather strict on their guidelines for one thing, and for another, with all due respect, none of you in this room would be capable of wielding the most dangerous weapons magic has to offer. In a similar vein, I will not be teaching you the subtle, more complex, or even more powerful ways in which to defend yourself against these weapons. In order for a wall to stand strong and impenetrable, the wall must be built on foundations which are as near infallible as one can make them.” 

She smiled proudly out at all of them. “What I shall be doing my best to accomplish this year is helping you lay the foundations to what I hope will one day become a structure that will hold against even the darkest of arts and the blackest of magics.

“Now, most professors would simply have you discuss the safety measures to be taken in this class. Quite frankly, if you are not all well aware of the dangers of such a class and don’t possess the common sense to keep yourself and those around you safe, failing in this subject will be the least of your worries.”

With that message out of the way, she smiled at them. “Now, let us begin with something rather simple. The most rudimentary, yet still a rather useful shield charm. I will require a volunteer.” No one’s hand rose and her dark eyes scanned the crowd before resting on Harry. “Master Potter, would you be so kind?”

“Yes ma’am,” Harry said automatically as he scrambled to his feet, looking nervous.

She smiled reassuringly at him in a way that put him immediately at ease. That statement was odd, for he was a rather paranoid person, but he didn’t have time to ponder on the fact. “There’s no need to worry,” she said quietly as the rest muttered, speaking softly enough so only he could hear her. “You will be attacking me. Assuming, of course, that you know of a spell to attack with?”

“Nothing at all powerful or useful, but I know a few jinxes.”

“They will more than suffice for our demonstration,” she assured him, raising her hand and causing the class to quiet as she drew her wand from her sleeve and stood to face Harry. Harry quickly summoned his from his holster, causing one of her eyebrows to raise for the merest of moments before she nodded for him to attack.

“Mobiliarbus,” he said, firing what he hoped would be the leg locker at her without hesitation. It worked; the jet of blue light shot straight towards her.

“Aegis Vocar,” she intoned calmly and without a wand movement, causing a nearly imperceptible shimmer in the air to absorb Harry’s curse. “Continue,” she instructed as she moved to the side.

“Rictusempra, Furnunculus, Flipendo.” His wand stayed trained on her as she moved to the side, but without bothering to incant another spell, she just allowed his spells to slam harmlessly into her shield. Harry raised his wand to attack again but never had the chance. He saw her wand give a nearly unnoticeable twitch and he suddenly felt as if the very air had grabbed him. He was forcefully jerked off his feet and hung upside down. He tried to move his arms, but he couldn’t. He felt as if they were tied to his sides. 

The class was completely silent as Professor Hurst strode casually up to where he was hanging upside down, his head about level with her chest. She reached out her hand, deftly plucking Harry’s wand from his limp fingers. She rolled up his sleeve as well and made a show of miming the disarming of his holster.

“That,” she said casually to the rest of the class, “is the difference defence can make in a fight. Master Potter, despite the fairly impressive spell work he displayed, never stood a chance without a proper defence.” She twitched her wand again and Harry felt himself flip in the air as his feet touched down on the floor. He took a moment to orient himself before reaching out and taking back his wand when his professor offered it. 

“The Aegis Vocar shield is the weakest of the magical shield charms, though it will hold against a few jinxes depending on the power that you are able to put behind it. In a fight, it is next to useless. In a duel, its low energy costs and unique ability to move with the caster could be of use. 

“For this class, it is a spell that will protect you from those of your age and it will serve as an apt introduction to defensive magic. The spell is basic, though I do not expect many of you to have managed this spell by the end of class today. If two of you can cast it, you will pair up and test your shield against the other’s jinxes. The incantation, as you heard, is Aegis Vocar. The wand movement is a circular motion in front of your chest.” When they all looked up at her a bit nervously, she snapped her fingers. “Begin.” 

Before she could stride away from him, Harry shot her a questioning glance and she nodded to show she was listening. “You didn’t use a wand movement.”

She smiled. “You are quite observant. For such a basic spell in comparison to my skill level, wand movements are wasteful and unnecessary. They are a crutch, if you will, a method to aid in casting. They are not strictly necessary.” He nodded. “Seeing as I am here already, let me see your attempt before I observe the others.” 

Harry raised his wand and traced it in the circular motion a few times before committing to it. 

“Aegis Vocar.” 

There was the same shimmer as the professor had created, though it was even less noticeable than her own. 

She looked surprised. “That is your first ever attempt with the charm, correct?” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded approvingly. “Five points to Slytherin.” She prodded his near-invisible shield with the tip of her wand. “It is weak, but for you to produce a shield at all on your first try is impressive for certain. Continue your attempts and I will circulate the room and inevitably return to you.” 

And continue he did. 

Harry only took a few brief moments to glance around the class as he attempted to strengthen his shield. From what he was seeing, nobody else had yet managed one. After quite some time, the professor was in front of him once more, and when he cast the spell, she poked at the barrier with her wand several times again before giving it a firm jab and causing it to collapse. She pursed her lips and before Harry knew what was happening, her wand had snapped deliberately towards his face. 

“Dolor,” she incanted. Harry recognized it as the incantation for the Stinging Hex.

“Aegis Vocar!” he snarled with conviction. The air shimmered more noticeably now, and her spell sparked harmlessly against his shield.

“Remember that,” she told him sharply. “Remember the desire to not get hit with that jinx, the desire to stay safe, the intent to defend yourself. Cast with that intent every time whether I am casting at you or not and your shield will strengthen and hold. Fail to do so, and your shield will crumble.” 

He nodded thankfully and she made off to help the others again. It was a blunt way to learn and it had scared the wholly hell out of him, but it had been effective. That was all he could really ask from a professor.

By the time the class had ended, the only other person who had managed anything was Theodore Nott.

Harry left the class in high spirits, feeling joy at the success of the lesson as well as the potential that the class held if Professor Hurst’s words were anything to judge by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A couple of things to go over quickly.**
> 
> **The first is that I was criticized by a guest reviewer for choosing “Liberals” and Conservatives” as the names of the two opposing political factions. It should be noted that this choice is based completely off of the English definitions of these words. I could not care less about real-world politics, so it had no impact on the story.**
> 
> **Also, I have been told that the name Amelia Hurst is used in another fic titled Power is Control. At the time of writing this, I had honestly never heard of, let alone read the story. No infringement was intended. She was one of about sixty names I have in notes as potentially being usable in the future. She was actually going to be an Unspeakable in a fic that I scrapped before ever posting.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised on September 8, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	5. Jostling For Position

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
> 
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_**September 2, 1991  
The Great Hall  
6:07 PM** _

It had taken Harry a surprisingly short period of time to find the library after their first defence lesson of the year with Professor Hurst. True, he had not yet located a spell that could be used to stop his cries at night from reaching the ears of the other students, but progress was progress at the end of the day. At any rate, he planned on returning to the library after dinner to hopefully remedy that inconvenience.

When he entered the hall and made his way towards the Slytherin table, the only Slytherin first years present were Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Greengrass and Davis. The first three were sitting with the same contingent of older students that Harry had spotted them with earlier that day. With some trepidation, he made his way towards the first year's section of the table and made to take a seat near the end. Unfortunately for his plans, Davis began to gesture for Harry to sit with the three girls and he sighed internally. Not wishing to come across as rude, he had little choice but to oblige her.

“Where have you been since class?” asked Tracey curiously. “Everyone else was in the common room working on homework.”

“The library,” he answered honestly, reaching for conservative amounts of both steak and potatoes to pile onto his plate. 

“Don’t tell me you’re studying already?” Tracey asked. “It’s the first day!”

He shrugged. “Better ahead than behind,” he justified, pulling his plate towards him.

“Yeah,” sighed Davis with a roll of her eyes as her two friends continued to merely observe, “because you’re definitely not ahead already or anything.”

He smiled indulgently at her. “I have to keep the same attitude if I want to stay as far ahead as I am right now. Besides,” he added in an attempt to divert the conversation off of this topic of discussion, “Snape nearly caught me out today in Potions.”

“How did you know all of that?” asked Parkinson, looking as if she were speaking to him grudgingly at best. In spite of that, she was clearly unable to contain her curiosity.

“I just read ahead,” he answered modestly. “I’m interested in the subject and I have a fairly good memory.”

“That was a fairly impressive showing,” admitted Greengrass with what sounded like respect. 

He inclined his head to her. “Not as impressive as your brew though. I have to admit, I have no idea how you pulled it off.”

“Daphne is a genius with potions!” Davis gushed. “She could probably brew all of the N.E.W.T ones already!” 

“Snape really seems to dislike you,” Greengrass put in casually. Harry recognized the probe and had to suppress a knowing smirk.

“More my brother, I think,” he answered thoughtfully. “He seemed to warm up to me a bit as the class went on, mainly because I just kept my head down and answered his questions. My dear brother did himself no favours though.” 

“I hope Dumbledore gave him detention for the year,” Parkinson interject a bit snottily. “He should know better than to disrespect our Head of House like that.”

“I think he probably does in general, but Snape seems to be an exception,” noted Harry. 

“You don’t seem as bothered as your brother,” Greengrass commented, something that made Harry shrug.

“I don’t make snap judgement calls. I’ll work out what I think of Snape for myself.”

Tracey just looked bemused. “I hope none of the professors give us any more homework tomorrow,” she complained, causing Daphne’s lips to twitch.

“It’s the first day; how are you complaining already?”

“Because we have so much homework!” Tracey moaned dramatically. Parkinson, who looked as if she had no real interest in acknowledging Tracey, nodded grudgingly.

“What do we have tomorrow, anyway?” the girl asked, mainly aiming her question towards Daphne, but not seeming too averse to somebody else answering.

“Herbology, History and a Transfiguration double in that order,” said Harry. “They’re broken up by spares and meals and the like.” 

The girls all looked rather surprised at his answer. “How can you possibly know that without looking at your timetable?” Parkinson scoffed, sounding rather sceptical. 

Harry just smiled a bit sheepishly at the girl. “I told you already, I have a good memory. If you don’t trust it, you’re welcome to check for yourself.” 

It seemed as if Daphne was doing just that, and her eyebrows rose as she looked down at her own timetable. “He’s right,” she confirmed, shooting him a rather calculating look. “When you say you have a ‘good memory’, how good are we talking about?”

“Good enough,” answered Harry easily, avoiding the question with little effort. He was sure Greengrass was well aware of the tactic, though if it bothered her, she did not show it. 

“Well,” said Harry, having finished his rather small portion of food after a few more minutes, “have a good night.” he inclined his head to the four students as he stood and left the hall for the library once more, his bag slung over his shoulder as he went. 

He spent a couple more hours in the library looking for a silencing spell, but could not find it. Frankly, there were just too many books in the library for him to locate such a specific spell. It was nearly curfew as he flipped furiously through the final pages of a charms book, cursing rather colourfully under his breath when he came to its conclusion without finding what he was looking for.

“Language, Master Potter. I would hate to deduct points from somebody who appears to be an early favourite to become my star student.” Harry jumped at the calm, cool voice from directly behind him, allowing the book to close with a rather loud snap that drew the attention of the librarian, Madam Pince, as he turned to find Professor Hurst looking down at him with a rather amused expression on her face. 

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he said with as much fake sincerity as he could manage. “I won’t do it again.”

She merely smiled knowingly at him. “Certainly not when I’m in your vicinity, at least.” her face became more serious. “What has you so riled up?”

He hesitated. He did not really want to share the information, as he dreaded the questions that would follow such an admission. 

She could probably speed things up quite a bit though.

He sighed, giving in to practicality and curiosity as he looked up at her questioningly. “I can’t seem to find a spell. I’m sure something like what I’m looking for exists, but without knowing anything about it, it’s been nearly impossible to find.”

Slowly, Professor Hurst appraised him, seeming to be mildly surprised by Harry’s explanation. “If it is a simple desire, a method of completing it likely does exist, yes.” She waited for a moment, but when Harry did not speak, she cut in once more. “Well? If you would like me to aid you in your endeavour, it might help if you tell me what you’re looking for?”

Harry blinked. He was not accustomed to anybody actually helping him, let alone taking the initiative to do so. The impulse to ask the professor for help had never even materialized.

“Don’t ask questions!” he could remember Petunia snapping at him on numerous occasions throughout his childhood. He thought that he might need to start working towards breaking that habit.

“Um… I’m looking for some sort of spell to stop sound from travelling outside of a certain area. So, something I could use on a wall, or divider, or something similar to make sure that sound doesn’t travel to the other side?”

The professor nodded. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it? The spell you would be looking for would be the silencing charm. It can be cast on an object to silence the object itself, but it can also be used in the way you have described it; though it takes a fair bit of power and prowess to pull it off in that manner.” She thought for a moment, seeming to be debating something internally before a few seconds later, she seemed to come to her decision. 

“There is a little known spell that is more suited to your desire and quite frankly, it takes little to no prowess to cast.” The professor’s sharp eyes flitted quickly around the room. “I shall teach it to you, but I would strongly recommend you keep it to yourself. As I said, it is little known and if word gets back to… certain individuals that you are using it, it could spark some rather problematic questions.”

Vaguely, Harry wondered why such a simple spell could cause “problematic questions” but he did not bother to ask. “I’ll keep it to myself,” he assured the Professor. 

She peered at him critically for a moment before nodding. She withdrew her wand and Harry felt — something rush outward from it. It was as if something heavy and oppressive was spreading around them, emanating from the tip of the defence Professor’s wand. “The incantation is Muffliato,” she informed him, sounding it out clearly and precisely. “The wand movement is a quick twist of one's wand and outward flick like so.” She demonstrated the wand movement before waving her wand and causing whatever force that seemed to surround them to noticeably recede. “Try it. It’s a simple spell; no real focus nor intent is required.” 

Harry did so, slowly and deliberately repeating her earlier actions. It worked. The magic, at least he assumed it was magic, that spread from his wand seemed mildly lighter, less potent perhaps than that which she had created, but it had worked.

“That will be more than sufficient,” she told him, nodding with mild approval. “Now, if that is all, I recommend that you return to your common room. Curfew is fast approaching, and I would hate to have such a gifted student in detention so early on in the school year.”

“Yes ma’am, and… thank you,” he said, finding it odd, if not difficult to thank somebody out of genuine gratitude as opposed to obligation imposed by fear. 

She gave him a small, thin smile before raising a hand to pause his retreat.  
“Remember, Master Potter, that within this world, curiosity is not a sin but a gift. If it is managed carefully and honed correctly, nothing but positive outcomes will stem from such curiosity. Have a good night.” 

With that parting message, the pair of them left the library, moving in different directions. Harry did his utmost best to digest the words of his professor, feeling as if there was a larger, maybe even a much larger message that he had missed within those eloquent words.

Harry just barely made it back to the Slytherin common room before curfew. As he stepped inside, he allowed a relieved smile to spread across his face. That smile lasted for a mere few seconds before he quickly noticed a palpable tension within the common room that could not be missed. Accompanied by that sense of tension, at least in the case of Harry, was a sense of danger. He knew, just knew something was wrong. As his intense, green eyes scanned the common room at large, he quickly located the source of the tension. 

‘Well, this should be interesting.’

Sitting in the lounge area he had noticed previously was not Weitts and her entourage. Instead, a very large, athletic-looking boy with sharp features and dark eyes sat in the dead centre of the lounge as if it were a throne. Only one of his friends was clearly willing to partake in this endeavour alongside him. His friend was a tall, lean, athletic-looking boy who was rather unassuming in appearance.

Nobody spoke on the seating arrangement, and to most of the house’s credit, they continued performing their normal activities as if nothing were happening at all. In spite of the play at normality, it was blatantly clear that everyone in the room was on edge. It did not appear that Weitts, nor her group of friends were in the common room. Curfew drew ever nearer by the second, so Harry thought it unlikely that would be the case for a whole lot longer.

Harry’s eyes roamed over the crowd once more, searching out his fellow first years. Malfoy was sitting with the same group of older students Harry had seen him with twice that day, plus he was joined by Crabbe, Goyle and Theodore Nott. They were making quiet conversation, though Harry noted Draco’s eyes flickering towards the lounge area every few minutes. In a far corner of the room, he spotted Greengrass and Davis, both quietly doing their homework. Greengrass did not make her observations quite as obvious as the Malfoy heir, though Harry would bet every galleon he was entitled to via his heir status that she had every sense tuned into the situation. 

He didn’t quite have a read on Daphne Greengrass as of yet, but one thing that he knew about her beyond doubt was that she was undeniably sharp. Parkinson and Zabini were sitting in silence, also seeming to be working on their prep. Zabini managed to look completely indifferent, though Parkinson managed nothing even remotely close to that feat. 

Harry’s eyes landed on the empty seat with Zabini and Parkinson and as quickly and quietly as he could, Harry swept towards them and gracefully lowered himself into the seat. Zabini glanced up, giving Harry a near unreadable look that Harry managed to distinguish as a silent inquisition. He got the message just fine. Zabini was trying to gauge whether or not he understood what was going on. In response, Harry allowed a small smile to grace his lips as he subtly jerked his head towards the lounge. Zabini looked surprised for only a moment before returning to his work. Parkinson, who was fixated on the lounge in the centre, missed the entire exchange.

The tension in the room only built as time progressed. Just as Harry thought it couldn’t continue any longer and that somebody would surely disrupt it, the wall separating the common room from the outside corridor slid aside. Admitting Grace and several of her friends, including Rhea Pax. Grace was speaking as they entered the common room, but her friends seemed to lose focus as they became aware of the atmosphere they were entering. To Pax’s credit, she regained it within a second, but Harry was most impressed with Grace herself. 

The girl did not so much as stutter in her monologue, nor did she break stride as she casually strolled towards the lounge. The tension in the room rose to a fever pitch until finally, Grace came to a stop in front of the boys, who were now both doing their best to act as if they were absorbed in their books. Harry was a bit taken aback when Grace didn’t call them on it outright. Instead, she cleared her throat in what sounded like a perfectly polite, even amiable tone.

“Excuse me, Flint, Higgs, but I believe you’re sitting in our seats.”

Harry really did not think the atmosphere in the room could increase in electricity any more than it already had, but in that moment, he found himself proven wrong as all at once, it was as if the room held its collective breath.

The boy in the dead centre — Flint, Harry assumed, as Grace had addressed him first, slowly, and deliberately closed his book with an unnecessarily loud snap and looked up at Weitts. For those close enough to see Flint’s face, there was clear defiance evident in his dark, narrow eyes.

“With respect, Weitts,” he countered, not quite managing the same casual tone that Grace had pulled off not a moment earlier, “I think seats are open to anybody. I don’t see what gives you the right to a particular place in the common room.”

Harry swore he saw Grace’s lips twitch, but it happened so fast that he could not be sure. “Don’t be melodramatic, Marcus,” Weitts chided him. “If you’re so unwilling to move, I think the both of us know exactly what that means.” Her face stayed completely neutral, but Harry, as was the case with most in the room, had no problem at all identifying the undertone of challenge in Weitts’ voice. 

There was a second pause before Flint’s face split into a rather easy smile as he gestured for his friend to join him as he stood. 

“No, not at all. I was just confused about the arrangement. No harm done; you can have the seat if it means that much to you.”

Flint and Higgs strode off casually. Flint even went as far as to incline his head to Weitts and her entourage. Grace’s friends all took their seats, though Rhea seemed to look to Grace before doing so. Grace stepped towards the sofa, but Harry knew she had no intention of sitting as he realized exactly what was about to happen a split second before it did.

“Lacero!” 

“Tormensia!”

Grace whirled around with enough speed that Harry would have sworn she had slowed down time. She seemed to pirouette around like a ballerina, her wand already drawn as she faced the two spells flying her way, one fired from Higgs, the latter from Flint. As fast as she had turned, Harry was sure it wouldn’t be fast enough. The first spell, fired off by Higgs, was inches away from her chest, whereas the second, fired off by Flint, was a bit off to her right and a bit behind its predecessor. 

If Grace didn’t move in time, something Harry viewed as an inevitability, she would be struck with the first curse. If she stepped to the right, she would be struck with the second. Her left was impeded by the sofa, on which her entourage sat.

Grace took neither option.

Her arm moved so fast it was nearly blurred as she brought her wand up in front of her chest at the last possible second. Right as the first spell was about to impact her, it was sent off course, as if she had swatted the blast of magic away with her wand. If that was not impressive enough, the spell’s new path had it on a quick collision course with its counterpart. When the two spells met, there was a sound like a firecracker and a bright flash of red light as the spells both sparked out. Grace’s wand snapped up, and without uttering a word, she quickly took advantage of the stunned state she had befallen on her two opponents.

A contingent of ravens flowed like quicksilver from the tip of her wand and soared towards the two boys. As they neared their prey, however, a subtle twitch of Grace’s wand had transformed the ravens. Now, they appeared to be more solid, as if made of metal. Their beaks and talons seemed unnaturally sharp and seemed to shine in the dim light of the common room.

“Protego!” cried Higgs as Flint simply dove for cover. The birds collided with his shield, disappearing in a haze of smoke. Flint took advantage of this distraction, popping up to the side and taking aim at Weitts. 

“Somnum Exterreri!”

The near-black spell hurtled towards Weitts, who turned at the last second, wide-eyed, and took the curse straight in the face, causing the crowd of onlookers to gasp. She fell to the floor and began to twitch, and Flint’s face broke into a manic grin for a whole three seconds before he seemed to realize something was wrong as the twitching girl gave no verbal reaction.

“Ausüben Caeli!”

There was a momentary blur around Flint before, as if the very air had grabbed him, he was jerked violently off his feet. He thrashed wildly against his invisible restraints, but it was to no avail. A second later, he was tossed through the air as if he were an action figure discarded carelessly by a child. He slammed hard into the wall, slumping to the floor, where he rolled feebly, curling into a fetal position. 

Nobody dared stand to help him.

“Lacero!” 

The same curse from earlier flew towards Weitts once more, who had appeared behind Flint a second earlier. Clearly, she had conjured some sort of duplicate version of herself to take the curse from Flint. When she cast her next spell, the Grace that had been twitching on the ground vanished. This time, there was no drama as she batted it aside in much the same manner she had done so earlier, but this time she made it look easy.

‘Slower though,’ noted Harry. ‘She is moving much slower. 

“The same curse again, Terence? I am disappointed.”

“Serpensortia!”

A ten-foot-long viper lunged from Higgs’s wand and reared to strike Weitts. Before it could, she swept her wand towards Higgs and in an instant, the snake was a set of ropes which seemed hell-bent on binding Higgs. The boy sidestepped at the last second, cutting them in half without a word before whirling back on Weitts.

“Everte Statum!”

Again, Grace batted aside the curse, but this time, she sent it straight towards the boy himself. Higgs gracefully dodged the spell but all of a sudden, he found the ground underneath his feet to be made of ice. Before he knew it, he was on his back. He made to jump to his feet, but as he did so, ropes appeared from nowhere, binding him to the ground as his wand sailed from his hand. 

Slowly, Weitts crept her way towards her fallen opponent, getting down to his level before she slid her hand underneath his chin, tilting the wide-eyed boy’s head up so that he was forced to meet her eyes.

“I am giving you a pass for your idiocy, Terence, but I will only do it once. I don’t know what Flint convinced you of or offered you to help, but just know that whatever it was — it wasn’t worth it.” 

The message was clear. 

Do not cross me again.

Higgs nodded quickly and Grace patted the boy on the cheek in the way a proud mother may do her four or five-year-old son for counting to ten. Then, with a flick of her wand, Grace vanished the boy’s restraints and he was on his feet in an instant, making his way towards the tunnels that branched off of the common room and towards the dormitories. He made it about halfway before he paused, looking back with wide eyes towards Weitts.

“Yes?” she asked, her voice filled with perfect innocence. 

“M-m-my wand?” asked the other boy, looking like he very much regretted his decision to turn around.

“Oh, this?” said Grace, twirling the offending piece of wood between her nimble fingers. “I think I’ll hold onto it for now. Just for the night, you know. I want to make sure that the message… sinks in.” She looked at him inquisitively. “Unless, of course, you have any objections?”

Though the pain in Higgs’s eyes was evident, he shook his head quickly, turning on his heel and scrambling down the tunnel towards the dormitory. 

As for Flint, he was collected a moment later by two older prefects and hauled from the common room, likely being taken to the hospital wing.

Harry didn’t have to ask. He knew that Madam Pomfrey would never hear the full story on how he had wound up there.

It took quite some time for the crowd to filter out of the common room after the duel between Grace and the two sixth year Slytherin boys. Harry stayed for quite some time, more to evaluate those around him than for any real interest of his own. He did, however, manage to finish Flitwick’s essay at the same time, so that was a plus.

Eventually, Harry too gave in to the pull of Morpheus and made his way to his dorm. Little did he know that he was not the last first year remaining in the common room. And little did he know that the other first year in question had been every bit as observant as he himself.

As the crowd finally thinned to only herself, Grace, Rhea, and a couple of third year boys, Daphne decided that it was time to wrap up her rather extensive essay for Snape. 

She was certain that in terms of content, insight, and length, it was far more than the man expected. As she scribbled down her conclusion, she briefly registered the sounds of Rhea wishing Grace a good night before she made her way up to her dorm. What she did not register was Grace sending a few not-so-subtle glares in the direction of the lingering third years, a move that sent them scampering up to their own dorm without further prompting.

After several more minutes of concluding what Daphne privately thought was quite the masterpiece, she sighed, rubbing her temples, and nearly jumping out of her skin when a familiar voice spoke from right over her shoulder.

“I doubt even Snape was cruel enough to ask for that on your first day.”

“Don’t do that!” Daphne hissed at Grace, glancing cautiously around the room as she stowed her essay into her bag. It was, as she could clearly see, empty aside from the two of them.

Grace laughed softly. “I did not mean to scare you. You’re usually more observant.” 

“I’m usually not nose deep in an essay,” Daphne defended, to which Grace dipped her head in acceptance.

“Touché.” she returned, taking a seat beside Daphne as she folded her hands in her lap.

Daphne looked at her suspiciously. “If mother or father owled to ask you to keep an eye on me, you don’t need to listen; It’s not necessary. I can more than take care of-“

“Relax, Daphne,” breathed Grace, raising a hand to silence the younger girl. “I have not sent nor received one owl from your parents in the past month, let alone since we’ve arrived at Hogwarts.” She smiled a rare, genuine smile to the girl who she considered as a second little sister. “Is it so wrong for me to worry about you? Why does it have to come from your parents?”

Daphne blushed. “I’m fine!” she defended, to which Grace nodded.

“Yes, I’m sure you are and for the record, I have no doubt that you are more than capable of taking care of yourself.” She smiled a soft smile to Daphne once more. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have the right to worry about you though. It is still hard to wrap my head around the fact that the girl I watched grow up is now here with me at Hogwarts.”

Daphne smiled genuinely back at her. “Thank you,” she said, sounding almost shy. “I’m sure it will be even weirder for you next year when Charlotte starts up here.”

Grace pulled a face. “You have no idea,” she commented dryly. “It was all she went on about since getting her wand in July.”

“I know,” said Daphne with a soft smile of her own, “I spent as much time with her as you did — I always have.”

“I know you have,” said Grace fondly. Daphne and her sister had been best friends for as long as either of them could remember. As a matter of fact, Daphne had known Charlotte far longer than she had known even Tracey. “I think she’s going to miss you more than me this year,” Grace noted with complete seriousness.

Daphne sighed. “I do wish she was here,” she admitted. “It’s odd without her, and I am not sure it is a change I’m entirely thrilled with.”

“You should take advantage of it in the best way you can,” Grace advised, earning her a rare, confused look from Daphne. “Make new allies, maybe even friends.” she elaborated.

“I have no interest in making friends with Malfoy and his goons, let alone Nott.”

“I never told you whom to make friends with,” Grace pointed out. “I can understand why you would want to avoid becoming too close with children of Conservative leaders, but I doubt I need to tell you the importance of remaining on good terms with them, regardless.”

“No,” agreed Daphne, “I’ve heard it for half of my life. You don’t need to remind me,” she answered dryly.

Grace chuckled. “Your parents did start quite early, didn’t they? Anyways, I’m not telling you to make allies with Malfoy or Nott, though between me and you, you might want to consider Potter.”

“Potter?” asked Daphne, completely baffled by the mere concept.

“Oh? Is there something wrong with him?” Grace asked, half curious, half in an effort to make her point.

“No, not really,” Daphne conceded. “Not with him, anyway. But making friends with him would be as dangerous as slapping Draco across the face in terms of political alliances.”

“I disagree,” Grace argued lightly.

Daphne’s eyes widened. “He is the brother of Charlus Potter! The-Boy-Who-Lived, the saviour of Magical Britain, The Gryffindor Golden Boy, The Beacon of The Light! If I allied myself with Potter, I would practically be waving around a sign saying that my family was going to jump camp to support Dumbledore.” 

Grace snorted at the very idea of such a thing ever happening, but she shook her head. “I don’t think you’ve been as observant as you ought to,” she chided. “I don’t think allying yourself with Potter would ally you with the Light side at all.”

“But how-“

“Oh, come on, Daphne; I know you’re better than that. Has Potter mentioned a word about his family since the two of you have arrived at Hogwarts?” 

Daphne thought about it for a moment before slowly, she nodded. “He said something about his father not really being in his life,” she remembered, to which Grace nodded, noting that bit of information down for future reference.

“I didn’t know that, but I am not surprised whatsoever. He acts nothing like what people say his father is like. He is quiet, reserved, and extremely perceptive.” She appraised Daphne for a long, calculating moment before she spoke next, her voice lowering by several octaves. “I have no evidence to support this theory, but for some reason, I highly doubt Potter would prescribe to the Liberal ideologies. He seems far too logical and critical to do so, and if he really has had little to do with his father, he will likely be entering the magical world as a fairly blank canvas.”

Daphne’s eyes widened once more, though this time it was with understanding. “You think I can sway him to the neutral beliefs?”

“I think it’s possible,” admitted Grace. “But it’s more than just politics. You two have more in common than either of you realise, and I think he would be a good match for you intellectually,” she said. “What I am trying to say,” Grace continued, preparing to surprise her young friend with her next words, “is that I think, through providing Potter a sort of safety net against the pureblood bigots through your family’s name and clout, you could form not just an alliance, but a friendship.”

_**September 3rd, 1991  
Potter Manor  
7:42 AM** _

James Charlus Potter, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, esteemed philanthropist and Senior Auror among other titles had not slept all that poorly the night previous, at least not by his more recent standards. In spite of that fact, James’ eyes were heavy with wariness as he continued to grapple with the mental fatigue that had been pressing firmly upon him since the Gringotts break-in more than a month earlier. 

Rufous Scrimgeour, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been under heavy amounts of pressure from Bartemius Crouch Sr, the Minister for Magic, to provide some answers in regards to the break-in. In response, Scrimgeour had put the same pressure on Alastor Moody, the Head of the Auror Corps and as a by-product of that, James. 

As one of the three senior-ranking Aurors, he had been run ragged for the last month in an attempt to find answers that just did not seem to be there. James was certain of only one thing really, at least when it came to the Gringotts break-in. Whoever had pulled off the break-in, despite their failure to actually get their hands on the stone, was a witch or wizard of prodigious skill. He was sure that nothing less would have managed to get them in and out of Gringotts alive, let alone seemingly unscathed and without leaving a trace in their wake.

This morning, James would have to leave for work in less than twenty minutes and as had been the case of late, he doubted very much that he would return before nine or ten o’clock that evening.

James felt his wariness lift a moment later, if admittedly marginally when a young, familiar-looking eagle owl flew in through the open window, causing James’s heart to leap. It was the his first correspondence from one of his sons. The rush of joy and excitement did not last long, as James would swear until the day he died that he had felt his heart drop from his throat to the pit of his stomach upon reading Charlus’s first letter of his Hogwarts tenure.

_Dear dad  
I did it! I’m in Gryffindor, just like you and mum! I’m so relieved! I’ve never been so nervous in my life! I seriously thought I would throw up last night. _

_I still think you should’ve told me about the hat, but I guess we can argue about that another time, since I actually have something important to tell you._

_I met Harry for the first time on the way to Hogwarts and talked with him once or twice since then. Dad… it’s not good._

_He’s really angry with you and he’s being a right wanker about it! He said a load of terrible things about me, you, and even Gryffindor! Can you believe it? Oh, yeah, he’s a Slytherin by the way, as if it couldn’t be any worse. He’s really angry with you. He said that you should feel terrible for what “they did to him” but he wouldn’t tell me what. Honestly, I think he’s being a bit of a drama queen, but I wouldn’t really expect anything less from someone in Slytherin. Maybe he’s trying to be cunning or something? I don’t know. He even said that for all anybody knew, he could be the Boy-Who-Lived! Can you believe that? I mean — I know he didn’t mean it, but still!_

_Snape was as greasy and as horrible as you said he would be! I have detention on Saturday and Sunday for talking back to him in class. I mean, yeah, I did do that, but only after he insulted me and you a bunch of times first. It’s not fair, but I guess you did warn me about him._

_I met the Malfoy heir on the train too. He was a bit of a prat, to be honest. He tried to tell me who I could and couldn’t hang out with. Harry actually shut him up really nicely, but then he was also kind of nice to him, so I don’t know what’s going on there. I hope Harry doesn’t actually become friends with a Malfoy just because he’s in Slytherin!_

_Oh yeah, Ron’s in Gryffindor too, by the way. He told me to tell you hi from him._

_Anyway, I have an essay from Snivellus I need to start, so I’m going to stop this here._

_I already can’t wait to see you at Christmas!_  
Write back soon,  
Charlus 

James felt himself physically deflate. It was no surprise that Harry held him responsible for his childhood, whatever that may have been. He had feared that reality for ten long years, but to have it confirmed in such blunt terms was another thing altogether. Not for the first time, James wondered if Peter and Albus had been wrong after all. Neither of them were wrong very often. 

After all, one was the greatest wizard alive, and Peter was brilliant in his own way. He made an excellent detective for the DMLE, even if none of the department knew of the advantage that he had with his animagus ability. He had also been a spectacular financial advisor and had even acted as James’s solicitor during the whole spat over the Boy-Who-Lived books a few years back. James could only imagine where he would be without Peter’s guidance over the years, let alone his friendship, especially after that night…

James shook his head to clear those thoughts from his mind. He was years passed the stage of depression now, though thoughts of Lily and the night that he lost her were still more painful than any wound he had ever suffered on the front lines as an Auror. Dumbledore had forever preached the power of love, and after losing Lily, James had truly experienced that for the first time.

Now, James reflected on that power, one that was said by the greatest wizard alive to be able to trump all else. Closing his eyes and taking a deep, centreing breath, James summoned a quill to him as well as two pieces of parchment. If he was going to overcome the fear and regret that had haunted him for the better part of a decade, the conjoined powers of desperation and love were a good way of doing it. 

‘You know what they say?’ he thought, reminding himself painfully of Sirius, who had loved setting up punchlines with phrases like that. ‘There’s no time like the present.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **One thing to clear up, since we’ve met James once more and this will come up later in the year.**
> 
> **In canon, James’s parents are Fleamont and Euphemia. I have decided to change it, because his father’s backstory will be elaborated on much later, and I just cannot picture a man named Fleamont in that position. And Dorea… well, I’ve honestly just always enjoyed that trope, so...**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised on September 9th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	6. Forgiveness and Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
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_**September 3, 1991  
The Greenhouses  
9:10 AM** _

When the bell rang to signify the start of their first Herbology lesson at Hogwarts, Harry and the rest of the first year contingents from Slytherin and Ravenclaw were gathered in front of the greenhouses. It seemed to Harry that the Ravenclaws were a fair bit more punctual than the Gryffindors, at least if this lesson was anything to go by. The Gryffindors hadn’t exactly shown up early to their first Potions lesson the day before.

At precisely 9:10 AM, mere seconds after the bell rang, the greenhouse door opened and out stepped a rather dumpy looking woman with a kind face and flyaway hair that was beginning to go grey. Harry recognized her from the staff table and was pretty sure that she was the Head of House for the Hufflepuffs.

"Good morning ladies and gents," she greeted them in a rather chipper tone of voice. "Come on in, come on in! Take a seat, take a seat!" The tables all had four stools. By the time everybody had shuffled around, Harry was left sitting with Zabini, Bulstrode and a small, shy, mousy haired girl by the name of Lisa Turpin.

Once they had all taken their seats and the chatter had died down, Professor Sprout began her lecture.

"Welcome everybody to your first Herbology lesson here at Hogwarts. I am Professor Sprout and I shall be your Herbology professor. Though none of you are in my house, I want to tell you all that my door is always open for those who need help. But that's not what we're here to discuss!" she said, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. "We are here to introduce you all to the wonders of Herbology. I would go over the structure of the Hogwarts curriculum and the O.W.L and N.E.W.T examinations, but I have a feeling your heads would all rot from boredom if I went into that like I am sure all of your teachers have done thus far?" The class's mutual sigh of relief was all the answer Professor Sprout needed, and with a knowing smile, she pressed on.

"I'm sure all of your teachers have gone on and on about how important their subjects are, and though I am not about to tell you that Herbology will be the most important thing each and every one of you learn at this school, I think the subject as a whole is looked down on by those who do not understand it. Some of the lessons you participate in within the walls of these greenhouses in future years will be some of the most difficult and dangerous work you will do while at this school. What?" she asked knowingly, as several people smirked exasperatedly. Padma Patil let out a rather loud, rather derisive snort, and Crabbe and Goyle actually snickered. "You don't believe me, do you? Well then, can anyone here name me a plant that could potentially kill a witch or wizard?"

The class went dead silent.

Harry's hand rose into the air, as did the Asian girl's from Ravenclaw — Su Li, as well as Greengrass's.

"Mister… Potter," indicated the professor, and though Harry did not falter, he also didn’t fail to notice that the professor's voice hitched a bit on his name.

"Devil's Snare," he answered simply, to which she nodded, prompting him to go on. "It’s a plant with tentacle-like vines that will strangle anything that touches it."

Patil was not laughing now and all of a sudden, Harry did not see any smiles in the faces dotted around the room.

"Concise and correct, Mister Potter. Five points to Slytherin. Now, can anybody tell me how you would defend yourself against this plant?"

This time, the professor pointed out Greengrass.

"Light or fire," she answered easily. "Devil's Snare tends to prefer dark, damp climates and is completely vulnerable to either option. Fire is the best way to actually kill the plant, but intense light will keep it at bay."

"Perfectly correct. Another five points to Slytherin." She peered around at the class, allowing a small, knowing smile to creep onto her face at the sight of her class's sudden change of heart. "I am glad to see that you will not take Herbology lightly. It is a subject that requires an odd mixture of precision, subtlety, and fearlessness, and I am sure it will be physically and mentally stimulating enough for the lot of you.

"Now, in this course…"

And she was off.

No practical work was done that day, as the entirety of their single period lesson was taken up by Professor Sprout's outline for the course. Harry really hadn’t put as much time into _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ as he had some of his other school material. However, he was reasonably satisfied that he still was already somewhere around the Easter holidays on Sprout’s curriculum. Harry made a mental note to read more of the textbook, since he was quickly becoming more and more aware that this subject could turn out to be useful in Potions as well: a subject he was quite interested in by comparison.

Again, Harry defaulted to his strategy of following other students to their next lesson, as he had not the foggiest idea of where the History of Magic classroom was. To his surprise, the classroom was not too far of a walk once they had re-entered the castle. The bulk of the first year Slytherins even managed to slip into the classroom moments before the bell. To Harry's far greater surprise and amusement, their teacher, Professor Binns, had not even bothered taking the attendance, nor did he wait for any additional stragglers to make their arrivals. Instead, he simply unrolled a comically long piece of parchment that Harry correctly assumed were his notes before slowly, in the most monotone voice one could possibly imagine, he began to read.

Harry found it was quite ironic that Professor Binns had simply woken up one morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Though the deceased professor was not physically doing any harm to anyone present, Harry could have easily described the looks on the faces of most of his peers to resemble those appearing on people who were clinically brain dead.

By the time the class had concluded, Harry had to grudgingly concede the point that Weitts had made to him the previous morning in the common room and resigned himself to simply memorising the history textbook.

'Hell,’ he thought, ‘he doesn’t even take the register. If I memorize the textbook, I just won’t show up at all.'

Harry was still trying to wake up the parts of his brain that had chosen to simply fall asleep when he took his seat at the Slytherin table for lunch. A moment later, Daphne Greengrass had taken the seat across from him, with Tracey Davis slotting into his right.

"That was so boring!" moaned Tracey, piling food onto her plate at a rapid pace. Harry resisted the urge to shoot the petite girl an inquisitive glance as he nodded quietly, a motion that Greengrass mimicked from across the table.

"It was pretty dull," Greengrass admitted. "I like history, but if I'm being honest, I might just read the textbook and sleep in the lesson."

"Why even bother showing up in the first place?" asked Harry, to which Tracey just gaped at him and Daphne crooked an eyebrow, looking intrigued. "He didn't take the register at all and if he were going to make a habit of it, he would have started on the first day." He shook his head in disgust. "He never even glanced up from his notes. I doubt he would ever even notice."

"But you can't just not show up!" protested Tracey.

In response, Harry just stared pointedly back at her. "Why not? Is there even a rule about attendance? If so, I haven't seen it."

"Because it's just-just — wrong!"

Harry shrugged. "It seems that having a teacher who doesn't even pay attention to his class is more wrong to me, but maybe that's just my opinion."

"He does have a point, Tracey," Greengrass admitted. "It's surprisingly logical, actually."

“No need for the tone of surprise." Harry quipped, which made Tracey giggle and Daphne roll her eyes.

"Judging by your brother's display in Potions, I think my surprise is justified."

"I am not my brother," Harry countered. His voice stayed perfectly calm and polite, but there was a certain note of finality hidden there.

"Clearly," Greengrass noted with some amusement, "it doesn't seem like he has a lot of instincts that lead him to act logically."

"No," agreed Harry, allowing his intense green eyes to flick over towards the Gryffindor table, where he spotted his brother in conversation with Ron Weasley and a sandy-haired boy whom Harry remembered was named Finnigan. "It really doesn't, does it?"

"No," Greengrass repeated, "but I'm sure if anybody can get away with it, it's probably the Boy-Who-Lived." Daphne did not miss the way Harry twitched in annoyance at the nickname, but she didn’t think Tracey had noticed and did not comment on the movement herself. "So," she said, "are you excited for Transfiguration?"

"To be honest, I'm excited for any and every bit of magic," Harry admitted. Daphne took that statement with a bit of surprise.

"Eager, are we?"

"You could say that, yes," Harry answered. "But Transfiguration as a concept does sound quite interesting."

"I've heard it's really hard, at least at firs," Davis put in, and Daphne nodded, having heard similar accounts from some older students. Harry just shrugged.

"You don't seem overly concerned," Daphne observed.

"Magic seems to come quite naturally to me," he said casually.

"You seem to have a strong grasp on theory, at least," Greengrass commended, to which Harry just dipped his head in thanks.

"I put a lot of time into studying this summer. I'm just glad to see that the time is paying off so far."

"What subject are you most interested in?" Greengrass asked.

Harry thought about it for a moment before answering. "Defence Against the Dark Arts seems like the most interesting, but I admit, Charms seems the most useful."

Davis rolled her eyes. "Of course, the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived would be most interested in defence," she said exasperatedly.

Harry's eye twitched. "I can assure you, my interest in Defence Against the Dark Arts has absolutely nothing to do with my brother." 

"You don't get along with your brother?" Davis asked. Daphne winced at her bluntness, but Harry was not overly bothered.

"I suppose you could say that, in a roundabout way. I don't really care one way or another."

"It must get annoying," probed Daphne, "constantly being compared and linked to him as if you are the same person?"

Harry's lips twitched. "I couldn't care less if people are dense enough to think that we're the same person. When they find out that they were wrong, it will only be to their disadvantage, not mine." Daphne's eyes flashed with something that Harry thought may have been approval.

"It must be cool though," pressed Tracy. "Having Charlus Potter as a brother, I mean?"

"Maybe if things were different," Harry responded quietly.

Tracey blinked and made to speak up, but Daphne silenced her with a quick glare.

"Speaking of lessons though," Harry said smoothly, easily diverting the subject to something more comfortable, "do you know where the Transfiguration classroom actually is?"

Greengrass shook her head. "I'm afraid not," she admitted. "I've just been following everybody else."

Harry's eyes sparkled with mirth. "Great minds think alike," he noted, causing Greengrass to look surprised for just a second before rolling her eyes.

"Are you as good at Transfiguration as you are at defence and Charms?" blurted Tracey, taking Harry by surprise.

He recovered in the blink of an eye. "I guess we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?" 

"Oh, come on!" she persisted. "You must have some idea?"

He just shrugged. "I know the content well, but that doesn't mean I'll be good at it, per se." He decided that leaving out the bit about him practising over the summer and having no troubles with the subject was probably for the best.

Before any of them knew it, they had all entered Professor McGonagall's classroom, and Harry found himself sitting beside Lillian Moon.

Professor McGonagall entered the room not a moment after the bell had rung, and upon entering, she surveyed them all sternly before taking the attendance and looking out at all of them with a look of utmost seriousness plastered across her face.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and potentially dangerous magic you will learn while at Hogwarts. Anyone caught messing about in this lesson shall be asked to leave and will not return. You have been warned."

'A bit ominous.'

When no one moved or said anything, Professor McGonagall started the lesson itself.

"In short, transfiguration is not as simple as it may sound. Transfiguration is not simply turning one object into another through the wave of one's wand. It requires a great deal of mental awareness, concentration and visualization. If you truly want to master the art of transfiguration, I must warn you that it will require a great deal of discipline on your part and will involve quite a lot of self-study."

Harry was not even remotely deterred. McGonagall, unlike most other teachers, did not seem to be explicitly preaching the importance of her subject. In spite of that fact, the way in which she spoke of it, proposing it as some sort of insurmountable challenge, was intriguing enough in its own right. At the very least, it certainly captivated Harry's attention.

"Furthermore," continued the Deputy Headmistress, "turning one thing into another through the use of incantation, blended with mental preparation is only one small section of the overarching art of transfiguration. There are four branches of transfiguration. Each branch contains its own smaller sub-branches. For example, human transfiguration would be considered a sub-branch of transformation. The four major branches of Transfiguration are transformation, untransfiguration, vanishment and conjuration. As you may be able to imagine, transformation is the branch which is concerned with transfiguring an object into something different. The opposing branch, untransfiguration, involves recognizing if an object is transfigured and reverting it back to its original state.

"The other two branches also juxtapose one another. That is to say, they are opposites. Conjuration is the word that describes the magic involved in creating something that was not there before. For example," she waved her wand, causing a flock of birds to rush from the end of it in a similar manner to the way Weitts had done the previous night in the common room. "That was a conjuration. In fact, it is usually the first one you will learn. Vanishment," she continued. "Is the name for the magic required in making something vanish, as the name suggests." She gave a long sweep of her wand and the birds disappeared. "Are there any questions?"

Harry’s hand was indicated by Professor McGonagall a moment later. “You mentioned sub-branches, Professor. I didn't notice anything about those in the first year portion of our textbook, so I was wondering if you could explain a little bit about them?"

Harry saw, for the briefest of moments, Professor McGonagall's eyes widen in what must have been surprise. She allowed a rare if admittedly small smile to tug at the corner of her lips.

"Certainly. It is not something we will delve into for several years, but yes, I can give you a background. A sub-branch of transfiguration, as the name suggests, is a branch within a branch, for lack of a better phrase. It is a part of transfiguration that fits under one of the four main branches but still carries significance. For example, human transfiguration, that is to say, transforming at least one part of the human body using magic, would be a sub-branch of transformation as I have said already. There are deeper concepts as well; nano-branches and femto-branches for example. I shall not go into detail on these now, as they are rather more advanced than your current level, but you may look into them privately if you would like…"

The lecture continued for some time. Had the class not been a double period, McGonagall's speech would have taken up the entirety of the class. Lucky as they were, they had a double lesson today and finally, Professor McGonagall set them the first task of their Hogwarts career within her subject.

She withdrew a wooden box from her desk and opened the lid, revealing an absurd number of matchsticks. "Your task," she informed them, "is to transfigure these matchsticks into needles. Now, I do not want anybody to become discouraged if this feat does not happen within the lesson. I have only ever taught two students who achieved the task on their first day, and even then, they managed to perform it only moments before the final bell.

"The incantation," she waved her wand, causing the incantation to appear on the blackboard at the front of the room, broken down into syllables, "is on the board, and there is a diagram of the correct wand movement on page 11 in your textbooks."

The sound of rustling paper filled the room as everybody scrambled to turn to the correct page in their books before making their way up to the front.

"I'll get you a matchstick while I'm up there," Harry told Moon, standing at once, since he knew there was no need for him to look at the book.

"You don't have to," the girl said quickly, blushing.

Harry shrugged. "It's no trouble; I'm going up either way. I'll be back."

True to his word, Harry came back to the desk with a handful of matchsticks. He deposited one in front of Moon before dropping a pile in front of himself, something that made Moon just look at him skeptically before muttering "thank you" under her breath.

"It was my pleasure," Harry said, not even realising he had pulled out his typical charming smile that had been used primarily to disarm his teachers in muggle primary school. Lillian blushed once more, diverting her gaze down to the diagram in her textbook.

"You can use mine if you’d like," she offered, indicating her already open textbook, as Harry had not bothered turning to the correct page of his own.

He had debated struggling with the transfiguration on purpose in order to not stand out, but he had decided against such action. After all, he wanted the highest marks he could get, and to outdo his brother, and even his father, who was apparently an ace at transfiguration if the school records had anything to say on the matter. If he wanted to accomplish all of those things, the latter two, in particular, he would have to sacrifice his anonymity.

“Thanks, but there’s no need." He slid his wand from his holster, drawing the tight, circular motion perfectly with his wand before ending with a jab towards the matchstick, picturing every square of the matchstick changing as if he were watching a movie. Though the textbook said to picture the finished product, Harry had found that this method worked far better. He supposed the book recommended the former due to the fact that it was probably easier for your average wizard to imagine. After all, most of them didn’t have muggle films as a point of reference.

"Compasatus Verto."

Beside him, Lillian Moon stopped her own wand movement to allow her mouth to fall open and her eyes to widen comically. Harry's matchstick had morphed into a perfect needle in front of her very eyes. Harry heard a sharp intake of breath from nearby and in moments, Professor McGonagall was on top of them, and the class at large had gone completely quiet.

"By the heavens," murmured Professor McGonagall. She snatched Harry's needle off of the desk and holding it up to her face to inspect it, even tilting it so the light reflected off of the needle. "it's… perfect." She turned to Harry; a suitably gobsmacked expression imprinted upon her usually impassive visage. "That was your first attempt, Master Potter?"

"Yes ma'am," Harry answered automatically, the smooth and polite confirmation sliding effortlessly off of his tongue.

The professor placed a hand over her heart. "Dear me, I have never… not in all of my years… why, I'm not certain it has ever…" She shook her head, seeming to shake the cobwebs out of her brain before turning back to Harry. "Take a very well earned twenty points to Slytherin, Master Potter." She eyed the pile of matchsticks still in front of him. "You were confident you would not have issues?" she asked, sounding even more surprised.

He just continued to smile disarmingly back up at her. "Magic has always come quite naturally to me, Professor," he said for the second time that day. "I thought it best to be prepared, just in case."

"Well," said McGonagall, now seeming completely at a loss, "I suppose I shall have to make things more interesting for you, won't I?"

For the rest of the class, Harry found himself assigned extra tasks from Professor McGonagall. Turning the matchstick different colours. Making it pointier. Making it less pointy. Adding dents. Making it shiny. He had found adding snake markings rather challenging, but by the end of the lesson, he had even managed that, something which earned him an additional ten points for Slytherin, which left him feeling an odd, warm feeling in his stomach that was almost completely foreign to him. He thought that it may have been pride.

He’d even had time to help out Lillian Moon beside him. She had not come all that close to completing the transformation, not even with his tutelage, but she had gone from nothing to a sharper, silver-hued matchstick, so he thought he was clearly doing something right.

When they all left the classroom, they left a thoroughly bamboozled Minerva McGonagall behind them.

'And to think I was impressed with my lions,' McGonagall had thought

Hermione Granger had nearly managed the full transformation on that first day. Charlus Potter had actually managed an extremely rudimentary variant of the transfiguration right at the end of the period, exactly matching his father's feat from twenty years ago.

Not even James, the most talented student whom she had ever taught beyond a shadow of a doubt had even remotely compared to the prodigious skill of the forgotten Potter.

_**September 5, 1991  
The Great Hall  
8:26 AM** _

Harry strolled into the Great Hall a bit later than the rest on his fourth day at Hogwarts. He had decided that since he was an early riser, he may as well take advantage of that fact to go off and read in the library. He had also managed to do his essay for McGonagall during that time, and he thought that would likely be a good system in terms of completing his prep.

To his surprise, Greengrass and Davis seemed to have left a seat open. It was beside the latter and across from the former. Harry slid easily into the seat and slid his bag underneath the table, reaching for some fruit as he did so.

"Not an early riser?" asked Greengrass, prompting Harry to smile knowingly back at her.

"Quite the early riser, actually. I’ve just been in the library.”

From beside him, Tracey stifled a massive yawn behind her hand. "Sp-sp-speak for yourself!" she finally managed, a statement that made Daphne crack a small smile and Harry to shake his head in bemusement.

There was just something about Tracey. She was the opposite of a prototypical Slytherin in many ways. She wore her emotions on her sleeve and was just a genuinely upbeat and bubbly person. Just the way she recklessly dove headfirst into each and every conversation ingratiated her to Harry, in an odd type of way. It was oddly endearing. True, it could very well end up being the girl's undoing within Slytherin House. Well, that and the fact that Harry was beginning to suspect that, in spite of what she said, Tracey Davis was no pureblood. Even in saying that, Harry thought he liked Tracey, if for no other reason than that she was an unorthodox and... entertaining conversationalist.

As he pondered this, the hundreds of owls suddenly rushed into the Great Hall. Harry, who had no reason to believe he would be receiving any type of post all year was caught completely unaware when a young, pristine-looking eagle owl swooped down in front of him and stuck out its leg. It did so only after allowing his twin, Charlus, to alleviate it of another letter moments earlier, but that fact only added to Harry’s mounting surprise.

He had to try very hard not to allow his breath to hitch in his throat as the dots all came together.

'It's from father.'

"Who is that from?" Tracey asked as Harry reached out and took the letter with hands that he just barely managed to stop from shaking.

He did not answer, taking his time to centre himself as he broke the wax on the immaculate looking letter before, with a cold stab of bitterness in his chest, he read the words written upon the piece of parchment.

_Harry,  
I had hoped that you would owl me over the summer, but I completely get why you wouldn’t want to._

_This is probably going to sound like the worst excuse of an apology you have ever heard in your life. Merlin knows how terrible at these your mother said I was, but I honestly am so sorry for anything and everything that happened over the last ten years. I knew Petunia was not the brightest ray of sunshine that had ever graced the world with its presence, but I never thought her, and her husband would mistreat you. You were family; I thought that would be enough. If I had a brother — hell, even if Sirius would have had a kid, I would NEVER mistreat them!_

_I do not know exactly what Petunia and her husband did, but if what Charlus tells me about your first conversation is true, then I think I may have made a bigger mistake than I realized._

_There is so much I need to tell you, to make you understand, but I can’t do much of it with an ancient quill and a boring old piece of parchment. I was never one for words anyway, unless they were to make someone laugh, but Merlin knows I am even more useless with a quill and parchment._

_I want to arrange a meeting; just the two of us, to sort things out. I know I might have ruined my chances with you, but I at least want to try and make things right._

_If it’s fine with you and you agree to meet me, I’ll owl Professor Dumbledore and have you excused from the castle to meet with me in Hogsmeade. You’re not technically old enough, but it won’t matter. It’s a rare privilege granted to the children of Wizengamot families… Oh, Merlin, I really hope you read about the Wizengamot, or this is going to be an absolute nightmare to explain!_

_Anyway, please owl me as soon as you can with your response. I’ll understand if you do not want to meet with me, but I really would appreciate a chance to explain everything._

_Write back soon either way… please.  
Love,  
Your Father_

Harry took a long time simply reading over the last two words that had been written on the pristine piece of parchment in his hands. "Your Father" were two words that were so foreign to him that they may as well have been written in a different language altogether. It seemed almost… wrong for him to be seeing them at all, but yet, he was.

There was a very large, very savage part of him that wanted to throw this letter back in James Potter's face. To respond with how awful a parent and a person he was and say he never wanted to talk to him again.

There was, however, a more logical side of Harry that realized that, at the very least, a relationship with his father, whether natural or artificial, would likely be one of benefit. As Lord of House Potter, James still wielded more control over Harry than he was comfortable with, and by cultivating his and his father’s relationship, Harry could potentially bypass the risk of James exercising that control in ways that Harry would much rather he did not. On top of that, Harry knew there were other, more political reasons to at least try and reacquaint with his father.

There was also a small but still very much present part of Harry that had spent the last ten years dreaming of a father. No matter what he thought of the man himself, Harry came to a sudden, shocking conclusion, one that was driven by more empathy and probably naivety than he had thought he could possess.

'I can’t turn him down.'

He hated himself for his weakness but despite all of his bitterness and resentment, Harry was, in spite of everything that set him apart, an eleven-year-old boy who had dreamed of having a father for all of his life. Now, when presented with the chance to meet the man, there was still a small, undeniable part of him that wanted to do all it could to make amends.

That was not to say by any means that Harry would be bending over backwards to meet the whims of his Father. It just meant that no matter how neutrally he would try to approach the meeting, he would at the very least grant the man a second chance.

_**September 6, 1991  
The Potions Classroom  
9:10 AM** _

This time, Harry noticed that his brother and Weasley did not show up late to the lesson, though he also noticed that the two of them looked a lot more nervous to be in the classroom in the first place.

Snape, like the previous day, took the register. This time, the only insinuation of incompetence that was thrown out was towards his brother. As soon as the register had been taken, he rounded upon Charlus without pause.

"Incompetent Potter," he snapped, making Charlus flush red immediately, "what is a common use for the plant that is also known by the titles of Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

It took a great deal of effort for Harry not to crack up as his brother fumbled for an answer that he himself had explicitly given to the class just days earlier. After a few moments of this, Snape put him out of his misery. Depending on one's definition of misery, Harry supposed.

"Pathetic, Potter!" he hissed. "You made it blatantly evident to us all last lesson that reading was not one of your areas of specialty, numerous and fantastical as I am sure that they are." His lip curled disdainfully and much of the Slytherin side of the room found themselves suppressing their enjoyment of the situation. Only Harry himself, as well as Zabini, Greengrass and Davis, managed to not crack up, though Tracey was a near miss.

"Mere days later," Snape continued, his voice rising in volume to cut across their reactions, "the Boy-Who-Does-Not-Read has also shown us, it seems, his ineptitude with a quill and parchment." There were more snickers as Charlus grew more and more indignant by the second.

"I can write perfectly fine, thank you very much!" the boy said aloud, at which point Harry internally cringed for him.

As Harry internally wondered when his brother would learn to just shut up, he mentally noted, with a smile playing on his lips, that Charlus had said nothing to disprove Snape’s claim that reading was beyond him.

"Can you?" asked Snape, miming surprise. "Why Potter, I must offer my most sincere apology. I had thought, which was most foolish of me, that from your incomprehensible lack of note-taking in spite of my more than clear instructions that you were simply illiterate." His lip curled once more as the class's mirth, at least on the Slytherin side of the room became louder by the second. "It appears, something I misinterpreted due to my own poor judgement, of course, that you are merely incomprehensibly incompetent, and incapable of following instructions; not illiterate as I had feared."

At this, Parkinson could not restrain herself anymore and burst into a fit of giggles, which prompted Malfoy and Nott to add their own gales of laughter to what was quickly becoming a symphony, added to by Crabbe and Goyle the next second.

Charlus looked as if he would explode, but before he could, Snape cut in once more.

"Your task," he said without preamble, "is to prepare a passable vial of Cura de Gorxa, due on my desk by the end of today's lesson. You may work in partners and choose whom you would like. Be aware that any ineptitude on the part of your partner will be representative of your failure to prevent said ineptitude from taking place." He scowled out at all of them when no one moved before he barked, "Begin!"

Everybody made to scramble and Harry, who had thought working with Zabini had gone pretty well last time, made to turn to his fellow first year once more. Before he coul, he was distracted when he felt a soft touch on his shoulder, which made him tense for a moment before turning to face the sapphire eyed girl who seemed to be the resident potions prodigy.

"I was wondering if you’d like to work together?" she asked Harry, seeming to take a fair bit of pleasure in his brief look of surprise. "You seemed interested in how I managed my potion last time," she added innocently. Harry could see that whatever her motive if any at all, it was certainly premeditated. Davis was already partnered up with Lillian Moon.

Harry was a lot of things, but stupid enough to look a gift horse in the mouth was not one of them.

He smiled at the Greengrass heiress. Zabini, seeing that he had just lost his first choice of partner, got graciously to his feet and left the table, allowing Daphne to join Harry.

"I hope you have no objections to constructive criticism?" Daphne asked, and Harry would have gawked at her confidence that bordered on arrogance if she had not displayed her prowess already.

Instead of gawking, he just smiled back at her. "None at all."

"Good," she responded, becoming at once more business-like. "First question, do you know what Cura de Gorxa actually is?"

"It's a simple potion that's used to relieve pain in the throat."

Daphne nodded approvingly. "Correct. For future reference, it's also called Strepsirum in more casual circles."

Harry hadn’t known that, but he supposed it would make sense to not call it by its Galician name at all times.

"Next question," Daphne asked, and Harry became aware that they were falling behind many of the others, who were already scrambling for ingredients, "you do understand the importance of proper ingredients and the easy, typical signs to tell the difference between good and bad ingredients, correct?"

"Yes," Harry told her, launching into a rushed explanation that she accepted.

"That will do for now," she told him, before reaching into her school bag, which Harry realized a second later was clearly enhanced after she pulled out a rather massive kit of ingredients. "As you can see, we don't need to bother with the school's ingredients, which in and of itself is an advantage since most of those are probably cross-contaminated anyway. Now," she said, "if you set up the cauldron, I'll prepare the ingredients."

"That sounds perfectly acceptable." Harry quoted Zabini from the last lesson, noticing to his slight amusement how the roles had reversed with his switch of partners.

Quickly, Harry realized exactly how Daphne had finished so early last lesson. Beyond that, he quickly deduced that she was actually more prodigious in the field than he had even suspected. He had thought at the time that she was probably quite a bit better than him when, in reality, they weren’t even in the same league.

At one point, to his horror, Greengrass added the next two ingredients both at once when, according to the instructions, you were to add the first, perform the next instruction, and only then add the second.

"Greengrass, what the-"

"Shh," she told him, pressing a finger to her lips before looking as if nothing had happened at all. "Now," she asked him, "what's next?"

"Stir seven times clockwise, pause for ten seconds, and repeat the process six times," he answered without even bothering to read the board and ignored the rather obvious mistake she had seemingly made. 

"Wrong," she said cheerfully.

Harry gaped at her. "Uh… Greengrass… the instructions-"

"Are not the only, or even the best way of brewing a potion in almost any scenario," she dismissed.

"Then why-"

"Why give them at all? Because Snape, no matter what he wishes, has to follow a Ministry approved curriculum. The recipes and instructions he gives us are the Ministry approved versions." When she saw Harry would cut in, she pressed a finger to her lips again to signify he should stay quiet. "They're taught to us because they are the least risky, least difficult and most conservative ways to brew potions." At his aghast stare, her lips twitched. "As you're about to find out, they’re usually not the fastest or most efficient way of doing it. They're just used to make sure idiots don't screw it up."

"And this isn't taught to us because..."

Greengrass glanced around the room and saw that Snape was coming ever closer. "That is another conversation for another time," she told him, taking on her lecturing tone once more. "Stir five times clockwise, once anti-clockwise, then pause for five seconds and repeat five times."

S,eptically, Harry did as he was told as Greengrass prepared the next ingredient beside him. To his shock, the potion not only turned the colour it was supposed to before adding the ingredient that Greengrass had added early, which was a bright purple, but it also skipped the next step entirely, turning dark green.

That shut Harry up.

Shocked, he looked at his partner with wide eyes and she actually had to stifle giggles. "Do you trust me now?" she asked, to which Harry just nodded dumbly in return.

For the rest of the lesson, Harry followed Greengrass's instructions, watching in transfixed amazement as their potion progressively moved through its stages at a rapidly accelerated rate. To her credit, she was a good teacher. She actually took the time to explain each step to Harry; not just how to do it, but why it would work as opposed to the original instructions. As it turned out, their potion was completed a solid thirty minutes before the rest. They finished so far ahead of the rest of the class that Snape had politely told them both to just get up and leave.

As they exited the class and made to go in opposite directions, Greengrass for the common room and Harry for the library, he called out to her at the last second.

"Greengrass?" 

She turned, arching a perfect eyebrow in question. "Thank you for your help and patience," he told her sincerely.

She smiled. "My pleasure," she responded, before giving him an odd look. "Maybe we could work together more often? You seem really good in other subjects and you actually do seem quite competent in Potions. Maybe you could help me and possibly Tracey with some other subjects and I could help you with Potions?"

Harry thought about it for just a moment before he nodded. The allure of knowledge was just too strong. "I think that could do us both some good," he said, dipping his head to her and moving to turn around.

"Potter."

He froze in mid-turn, whirling back around to face her. "Yes?"

"If we're going to be working together more often, I think you should call me Daphne.” 

Harry could not help but smile, his chest filling with an odd, warm feeling that he found to be completely unfamiliar to him. As he formed his response, he failed to name the feeling, though he thought it may have had something to do with what felt like the formation of his first real friendship.

"I think I would like that, Daphne, and you are more than welcome to call me Harry."

__**September 6, 1991**  
The Headmaster's Office  
8:01 PM 

Charlus found himself in awe of the ornate trinkets that were scattered all across Professor Dumbledore's office. He wondered, absentmindedly, how many of them the man had created himself and how many he had acquired on his countless travels.

"I see my collection has caught your eye," Dumbledore said proudly, that all too familiar twinkle in the old man's eyes. For some, that twinkle had always been off-putting, but for Charlus, who had seen the headmaster off and on for as long as he could remember, it was oddly comforting.

"Yes, sir," Charlus said eagerly, finally pulling his attention off of the trinkets and onto the man himself. Dumbledore was wearing magenta robes and had his fingers laced in front of him as he peered up at Charlus. "Sorry," Charlus added sheepishly, "I didn't mean to distract you or anything… it was just-"

Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. "Sorry for distracting me? Merlin's beard, Charlus, fate knows that if there is any dweller of this realm that needs such idle distraction, it is I. No, you have nothing to apologise for. Please, take a seat." Charlus did so instantly, gazing attentively across the desk at his headmaster. "How has your first week of official magical education treated you?" Dumbledore asked, fixing the entirety of his attention upon Charlus. "I know you have been eager for it to begin for many years."

Charlus beamed. "It's been great, sir," he answered. "Professor McGonagall seemed really pleased with me in Transfiguration, and Defence Against the Dark Arts was brilliant!"

"Was it now? If you can forgive an old man's short attention span for a moment, what about your lessons in Defence Against the Dark Arts ingratiated the subject to you as a whole?"

"Well," Charlus began, "Professor Hurst is brilliant, for one thing! She's a bit… I don't know — not creepy or anything, but just the way she talks… it's..." he trailed off.

"Passionate?" Dumbledore offered gently. "Enraptured? Perhaps even ominous?"

"Yeah, all of those, actually. But it's not just her," he put in. "We spent the week learning the Aegis Vocar shield charm. She said it was the most basic, but I thought it was brilliant! A lot of the class had a hard time, but I managed to do it today pretty much perfectly during our second lesson! — Aegis Vocar!” Charlus intoned as the shield popped up around him.

"A commendable accomplishment," Dumbledore praised with a smile. If Charlus had been more perceptive — way more perceptive, he may have noticed the briefest flash of surprise in Dumbledore's eyes when he spoke of learning the Aegis Vocar shield charm. "Well," he continued, his smile still firmly in place, "if nothing else, it has certainly been a busy first week you have had. Two detentions already? Why, if I didn’t know any better, I may think that you were gearing up for an attempt at your father's record! As a matter of fact, if Professor Snape had gotten his way when he came to me last Monday, you may well have given it a run for its money."

Charlus blushed and recoiled a bit at the reminder, but the headmaster's eyes were still twinkling as merrily as when he had first walked in. "Snape did come to you, then?"

"Professor Snape, Charlus," Dumbledore corrected gently. "And yes, he did indeed. He seemed to be under the distinct impression that you managed to vanish into thin air and was not at all convinced when I proposed the altogether more likely theory that you merely slipped out the classroom door." His eyes were twinkling now even more than before. Charlus knew, in that moment, that Professor Dumbledore was aware of his cloak and that he was choosing, at least for now, to turn a blind eye. "I would ask, however, that in the future, you do not actively antagonize Professor Snape, whether it be in or out of his classroom." His voice was not stern per se, but it definitely held a certain amount of authority to it that cowed Charlus without much issue.

"I won't if he doesn't do it first," Charlus muttered.

Dumbledore sighed. "Ah, bitterness is such a terrible curse. I believe that you must forgive Professor Snape for any rudeness that comes as a result of such an affliction. Assuming, of course, it remains at a level that is within reason."

Charlus scowled. He was furious that Dumbledore did not even deny the fact that Snape would be a git to him and was going to do nothing about it. He supposed it was fair if he wasn’t letting Snape punish him too unjustly for it and was letting him get away with having the cloak, but it still annoyed him to no end. "I don't understand what you see in him," Charlus said through gritted teeth.

Dumbledore's pleasant smile did not waver. "Nor has your father ever understood," he said calmly. "I trust Professor Snape as much as I trust anybody on this planet. My reasons for such trust are between he and I.”

Charlus did not dare push the matter any further.

"You should try and avoid preconceived assumptions, Charlus," Dumbledore warned him. "They are hardly ever productive and can, in fact, often lead to the complete opposite of productivity."

"You're talking about Harry, aren't you?"

"In a sense, I suppose I am. I am merely pointing out that it is foolish to shift your perception of a person so drastically because the colour of their tie is not the one you had expected."

"He was meant to be a Gryffindor," Charlus said in barely more than a whisper. His displeasure at the reality of the situation was marred across his face. "We were supposed to be brothers-"

"And why does Harry being a Slytherin at all stop you from being brothers?"

Charlus paused. "He… he insulted dad, and me, kind of."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Insults are such a petty thing to hold a grudge over, Charlus, especially among family. Why, my brother once accused me of indirect murder. He even broke my nose over the grave of the alleged victim. Today, he still often hurls insults my way, but alas, we are closer now than we have been in nearly a century! For decades, he would not speak with me at all."

Charlus frowned, trying and failing to wrap his head around what his headmaster had just said. "That… doesn't exactly sound like the most functional family, sir."

"Functional? Certainly not! But it is a family nonetheless." Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles at Charlus. "I merely brought up the fact, Charlus, to showcase that the bond of brotherhood is capable of withstanding much more than petty insults hurled back and forth at the age of eleven. I shall, in fact, tell you the same thing I told your father on that tragic night nearly ten years ago now... Though thankfully, I shall do so under less tragic circumstances.

"There is little in this world more powerful than love and sacrifice. They are two of the most powerful forms of magic we have or will ever know. The love between two brothers cannot be ignored, and it seems, if what your father has told me via owl is true, that Harry may have sacrificed much in the past ten years for you, my boy, and for the greater good as a whole. Granted, he may not have done so knowingly, but in this case, as opposed to most others, the intent is not nearly as important as the action itself."

"So, you're saying I should forgive him?"

"Why, Charlus, of course I am! On one hand, I fail to see what there is to forgive. On another, my detractors have said for years that I am all too willing to hand out second chances." He smiled conspiratorially at his younger companion. "Between the two of us, for all the holes in my detractors' many arguments, though some are of course true, they at least do an absolutely splendid job of deducing that habit of mine!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A brief note on the pacing of this story. Yes, it is paced quite slowly. That is deliberate on my part. Year one goes much faster after Halloween, but the pieces have to be arranged before they can begin to fall. With that being said, I did warn you already that this fic would easily eclipse one million words. If that is not to your tastes, that is perfectly fine, but please do not leave reviews saying you wish it were moving faster. The pacing is very deliberate on my part.**
> 
> **One more note as well on how teachers address male students. It is a rather old fashion custom to address males under the age of eighteen as master. As such, I will be using Flitwick as my cut off point. Any professor younger than Flitwick will almost always address them as Mister, whereas any professor older will frequent the word Master. You may have noticed already that Hurst is an exception to this rule. That is not an accident, and I shall leave it at that.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised on September 12th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl, rawmeat898 and TauNeutrino.**


	7. Adventures and Admissions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
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_**September 7, 1991  
The Slytherin Common Room  
6:21 AM** _

_Dear Father,  
I won't pretend that I'm going to run into your arms and forgive you for everything you have done. I hold you accountable for most of the bad things that have happened in my life, but I also feel asking for a second chance is not unreasonable._

_I would be willing to meet with you in Hogsmeade during the first trip of the school year. Please get back to me when the trip itself has been confirmed._

_I hope you're not taking me breaking the Potter tradition of landing in Gryffindor too much to heart. Charlus seems quite annoyed by the fact._

_Your son,  
Harry._

Harry read over his fourth draft of the letter to his Father with a sigh, deciding it was probably the best he was going to get. It was honest, yet still portrayed him in a positive light and even contained some light humour, something that he thought from stories he had heard about his Father and from his Father's last letter that he would enjoy. He thought the letter was passable at the very least and was just standing to leave the common room when a voice spoke from a bit behind him and off to his left.

"And where are you off to at this time of the morning?"

Harry turned, finding himself not nearly as startled by Weitts's sudden appearance as he had been on the first day, even in spite of the way she had embarrassed Flint, who had not returned to the common room until early on Thursday.

"Exploring," he answered honestly. He had read all about the fact that Hogwarts had mysteries upon mysteries to unravel and Harry, eager as always, could not wait to start. At the moment, he just wanted to find an abandoned classroom in which he could practice actual practical magic without being disturbed.

Weitts looked amused. "You really weren’t exaggerating when you told me that you were a morning person, were you?"

"No, and you weren’t either. You said it would seperate me from the rest of the house. You weren’t kidding.”

Her lips quirked. "Yes, that is one of the peculiarities of a bunch of children who, for the most part, grew up in luxury." Harry's eye twitched as he tried to suppress a modicum of expressional changes that would all indicate his bitterness about such a statement. If Grace noticed, she didn’t comment.

"I guess that makes sense, yes," he answered, keeping his voice neutral.

"I saw you sitting with Greengrass and Davis last night," Weitts commented.

"You seem oddly interested in, and disturbingly open with a random first year who shouldn’t be worth your time," Harry noted bluntly, prompting Grace to pause for a moment as if processing his statement before laughing softly.

"You have a very odd manner about you, Potter."

"How so?"

"You are certainly a Slytherin; anybody who knows which qualities to watch for would be able to see that. Even in conversation, you are slick, elusive, and calculating. However, in the same vein, you go on to say things like that. Most wizards in this house would have hinted at such a question or dodged around the topic entirely."

"Maybe," Harry conceded. He believed in cunning for certain, but had no intention of hyperbolizing the trait to fit a certain narrative. "You've hardly acted normal around me yourself." He mentally reviewed his conversations with Weitts. "And you've been pretty open yourself.”

"You see what I mean?" she asked rhetorically. "You are certainly cunning, but so different. Just your confidence around me alone separates you from nearly all in your year."

"I don't have any reason to fear you."

Grace's brow quirked. "Were you not as impressed as the rest?"

"Impressed and fearful are two completely different things. You have no reason to attack me, and I’m not dense enough to think I would have a chance at the age of eleven. So unlike Flint, I have no interest in starting something I can’t finish.”

"As astute as you are different." she commended. "I’ll have to get used to your tendency of seeing and stating the obvious as well. It’s… refreshing if a bit off-putting." She bowed her head. "Well, I won’t stop your explorations. Just be back for curfew and don't get lost."

Quickly, Harry slipped from the common room without saying another word, letter clasped within his hand. He hadn’t mentioned that small detail to Weitts, as it was not something that he thought essential for the older Slytherin to know. If truth be told, he was rather surprised that, unless she had seen it while entering the common room prior to their conversation, she hadn’t seemed to have spotted the letter at all.

It took him quite a while to reach the owlery. For one thing, he had needed to climb countless sets of stairs and essentially travel to the opposite side of the castle. For another, he had not had the foggiest idea of where he had been going. This time, there were no sheep to follow.

When he finally did reach the owlery, his sharp, green eyes quickly searched the room. It didn’t take long for them to fall upon his owl. Ghostly white against the uniform normality of grey and brown. Nemesis looked up and met his eyes, letting out a soft, rather pleased sounding hoot that seemed to be a stark juxtaposition of her name as she swooped gracefully down onto her master's outstretched arm.

"It's good to see you again too," Harry whispered amusedly, scratching her feathers briefly before holding up his letter. "Do you think you're up for a flight? I'm not quite sure how long it is?" The owl hooted once more, though this time, there almost seemed to be a note of challenge if such a thing were at all possible. Harry laughed quietly, tying the letter to Nemesis's leg as he did so before allowing the owl to swoop out of the open window and streak off towards the horizon.

Now that he was alone, Harry began to ponder his options. He had heard, through the tales of older students, that the castle housed many abandoned classrooms that were the perfect place for practice. He intended to find one of these, but he wasn’t completely sure where he should look. It was not so much that he was worried about being able to find them. On the contrary, they sounded quite numerous. No, what Harry was more concerned about was finding one where he was unlikely to be interrupted. In his mind, this left him with two obvious options.

The first was to find a room in one of the tallest towers, somewhere people would not want to spend all the time and effort getting to. Through viewing his Uncle and Cousin for ten years, Harry had experienced the peak of human laziness, and he would not be underestimating its power ever again. As such, he had very little doubt that this option was perfectly likely to work, but at the same time, it was terribly inconvenient to have to spend so much time walking from the dungeons to the highest tower on a regular basis if he decided to make this a permanent arrangement.

The other option, one that if the whispers from the older students had been any indicator, was likely the more dangerous and daring option was to explore the dungeons. The Hogwarts dungeons were very vast, stretching far beyond the Slytherin common room. He’d heard that not many, not even within Slytherin House dared to venture into the true depths of the Hogwarts dungeons. Nobody was quite sure what was down there, but Harry had a feeling there may be some rooms that could be serviceable. Privately, he thought the concern over such a trek was quite childish. From a logical perspective, he could hardly imagine that the founders would have put anything in the school that was dangerous. He also did want to explore the castle, so in a sense, this option satisfied two of his most pressing desires.

So, he set off on what was quite a long trek back down to the dungeons, walking straight past the wall that he knew to be the entrance of his common room and continuing his descent downwards. As he went, he noticed that the torches became less numerous, giving him the impression that he was plunging straight into darkness. Corridors were leading in every direction, and Harry privately thought that it may well take him all seven years to explore the castle to its entirety if this was any indicator.

The light was not the only thing that seemed to dwindle as Harry plunged into the belly of the castle. It seemed as if he had left the concept of rooms far behind him, as he simply walked past blank corridor after blank corridor after blank corridor.

Finally, he took a turn that led him down an extremely long, extremely dark corridor. Now, Harry felt as if he were walking down a slope, as the gradient of the floor seemed to be increasing. As Harry continued to walk, he noticed that, though no room seemed to be in any hurry to appear to him, the walls were no longer bare. As a matter of fact, they looked almost familiar. They were, much like the corridor several turns before their common room, decorated with serpentine decor. Briefly, Harry debated the possibility that he had somehow walked back to that place, likely aided by the magic of the castle but he dismissed the idea quickly. For one thing, there were far fewer torches lining the walls in this corridor and for another, though the decor was certainly serpentine, it was different. More… realistic.

Where the corridor far above was clearly the work of a skilful artist, these serpents genuinely appeared to be portraits. As that thought crossed Harry's mind, he paused. For some reason, he had the terribly powerful sense that he had been here before. It was akin to Déjà vu, but it seemed to Harry as if it were a dozen times stronger and more insistent. Something about this place, and not just the decor, mind you, felt… familiar, homely even. He had the odd sense that this feeling had nothing to do with the corridor Merlin only knew how far above.

This was not the only thought that crossed Harry's mind, as when he gazed upon the serpents decorating the corridor, and in particular, when he thought of portraits, several more pieces, and a rather wild, rather unrealistic idea came to him.

By now, Harry had found out that in the magical world, portraits behaved in an odd sort of way. Not only did their occupants move, but in most cases, they even seemed to carry the mannerisms of the person depicted. That was to say, in a pale, half sense of the expression, the portraits were — well… there was no other word for it — alive.

Harry also knew that in this state, the portraits could even speak and communicate with the living. This radical, unrealistic idea of his was not formed here, in this corridor for the first time. Their common room, having been designed by a man who had chosen a snake as his emblem, was positively littered with serpentine markings, paintings, and other forms of decoration.

Harry had, of course, read by now in Hogwarts, A History, as well as Rise and Fall of The Dark Arts of Parseltongue. That was to say, the ability to speak to snakes, which, to his great surprise, was not one that was frequently possessed. 

He had assumed when first finding out about magic as a whole that his ability to speak with snakes, as discovered for the first time at the London Zoo, was one that was very unique. He had also discovered, unfortunately, that due to both the stigma surrounding Salazar Slytherin and, to a larger extent, Voldemort's reig of terror that Parseltongue was not something that was viewed in an overly positive light. As such, Harry had refrained from revealing this ability and had been perfectly ready not to use it until he found a time to experiment with absolutely nobody around. 

He would have liked to give it a try over the summer holiday. However, the Dursleys, despite being quite a bit better in general after Hagrid's visit, did not seem eager to let him leave the house. Not even to perform errands that would have certainly fallen to him before.

Now, alone with countless depictions of snakes that dated back a millennium and gifted with an excuse to speak to them, Harry looked up towards the nearest portrait, focused upon it and spoke, barely noticing that his voice came out as a hiss.

"Can you hear me?"

Instantly, the corridor around him came alive. Suddenly, the sound of slithering could be heard in every direction around him. Though he could not see for certain in the oppressive darkness, Harry thought the serpent decorations must have stretched on further down the corridor than he had realized. He could hear serpents slithering from one portrait to another in order to get a look at him. At the same time, Harry's hearing was assaulted by dozens of hisses, all clashing with one another in a cacophony of noise that made one hiss impossible to decipher from the rest. This phenomenon stretched on for almost a minute before one hiss managed to make itself heard above the rest.

**"Silence!"**

Somehow, this hiss sounded more powerful than the rest. It was, if such a thing was possible at all in the language of snakes, a rather authoritative statement. Slowly but surely, all the snakes depicted around Harry fell silent and one of the largest snakes Harry had seen slithered its way into the painting directly in front of him.

A black mamba!

The snake was, contrary to what many may believe by its name, a dark, greyish-brown colour, though its belly was noticeably pale, especially in contrast with the rest of its body. Though Harry could not see inside the creature's mouth at present, he knew that if he could, he would see an odd, inky-black coloured maw. It was, as a matter of fact, the reason the snake had been given its name at all.

The snake surveyed him with dark, black eyes; eyes that were surrounded in a pale, yellow colour. **"You speak?"** the snake hissed. Harry almost jumped when he realized that he was the one being addressed.

**“Not a great question considering I could technically speak English and you’d never understand me, but I know what you’re getting at. And yes, I speak.”**

Harry could have sworn the snake sneered at him.

 **"With a bit too much cheek for my liking, but it does indeed appear that you speak."** The snake surveyed him more critically, seeming to be sizing him up. If the serpent in front of him was not confined to a portrait, Harry very much doubted he wouldn’t have already fled. **"What is your name, human?"**

 **"Harry.** " he hissed back, having to put less thought into the language the more he used it. **'Harry Potter."**

 **"Potter, you say?"** hissed back the Mamba. **"We have never spoken to any with that name, though it has been many years since we spoke to any at all."**

 **"How long ago?"** Harry asked.

**"Time is difficult, immaterial to portraits, and you humans think about it more than us snakes. I do not know how long it has been, but it has been a long time."**

**"Can you tell me who the last one was to speak to you?"**

**"She did not give us the first name as you have done,"** the mamba informed him. **"Her surname was unique as well. We had never heard it before her arrival."**

**"What was it?"**

**"Riddle."**

At top speed, Harry searched his near infallible memory for the name Riddle. To his surprise, he drew a blank. He had thought that if the ability to speak Parseltongue was genetic, then he would have recognized the surname as one descended from Salazar Slytherin, and perhaps even one of pureblood nobility. In spite of that, he had never heard of the surname Riddle. He didn’t think it was even mentioned in Nature's Nobility: A Guide to Wizarding Genealogy. But if she were not descended from Salazar Slytherin, and he was quite sure he would know the name Riddle if she was, then how could she speak to snakes?

'Come to think of it, how can I speak to snakes?’

This thought gave Harry pause.

As far as he knew, the Potters had no relation to Slytherin whatsoever, which should make the ability to communicate with snakes impossible.

Yet here he was.

He supposed that as old as the Potter family was, there could have been an unknown affair or connection somewhere down the line. If that were the case, he would never have known.

It was also possible that perhaps, everyone was wrong. Perhaps, you did not need to possess the blood of Slytherin. It would explain both himself and Riddle in one go, but it also hinged on centuries of wizards all misinterpreting a universally accepted concept.

In other words, he didn’t like those odds.

He shook his head, pushing the mystery of Parseltongue and its intricacies to the back of his mind for now. He had more pressing matters to attend to at present.

 **"I have never heard that name before,"** he admitted after a longer than normal delay.

 **"She could have lied,"** hissed a different snake, bringing forth a very real possibility that Harry had never considered.

 **"Perhaps,"** the mamba replied, though Harry could detect that the serpent in question was not at all convinced. **"What is it you want from us, human? Very few wake us without good reason."**

**"I was actually mainly focused on finding out whether or not I could speak to snakes in portraits. But if you wouldn’t mind, are there any abandoned rooms that could be used as practice and study rooms down here?"**

**"If you continue down the corridor past this place and take the next left, there are several small, generic rooms there."**

**"Thank you,"** Harry hissed back. He made to leave when he heard the definable hiss of the mamba once more.

"Speaker!" The snake hesitated for only a second once Harry had turned before hissing one final time. "Find my brother Custos in your den. I think he would be of interest to you." The snakes fell silent once more, fading back into their portraits and not making any further sounds at all.

_**September 7, 1991  
The Great Hall  
6:46 PM** _

When Harry had entered the room specified by the Mamba earlier that day, he had found a rather large room that was completely open. For some, the lack of furnishing may have been discouraging, but though it was not ideal, Harry found that it didn’t really bother him one way or another. As long as he could practice magic, that was all he needed, at least for now.

And practice he had.

He had worked with mostly Charms and Transfiguration, though he had performed a few of the defence spells that didn’t require a target. His Aegis Vocar shield had improved astronomically and by the time the day was done, he was performing magic that they wouldn’t even think about until the Easter holidays.

When he finally left the room that night for dinner, it was with the thought of returning the next day to practice once more.

When he entered the Great Hall, he smiled a rather soft smile when he noticed that Daphne and Tracey had saved him a seat. Unfortunately, he was receiving rather scathing looks from the two of them as he easily slid into his chair. It was the look of the former that truly caused his heart to beat just a bit faster.

"Where have you been?" Daphne asked sharply. She did not raise her voice. As a matter of fact, she spoke quite softly, but her voice was laced with danger.

Harry winced. "Practicing," he answered.

"That isn't a where, Harry." Daphne pointed out in a poisonous tone.

"An empty classroom," he amended, not really sure if the room he had used had ever been serviced as a classroom. Either way, it was an easy answer, and he didn’t want to keep Daphne waiting for those in her current state.

"Where?" she asked, clearly annoyed with him. "We looked all over for you today!"

Harry did not like apologizing. It reminded him painfully of Privet Drive, when he had to do it often because he had been too weak to do anything about it. He was sorry, but he couldn’t will himself to say it. 

"I didn't really want to be found. I’m sort of an obsessive person. Pnce I put my mind to something, I don't want anything distracting me from that thing." It wasn’t a lie, but it was not the full truth either.

Daphne huffed, but for now, she let the subject fall. Harry thought she did so far too easily, and he was sure that she would pick it up once more in a far less crowded area.

"Well," Tracey asked, sounding a bit nervous, "what did you practice?"

"Charms and Transfiguration, mostly," he said, happy to be answering far safer questions. "I couldn't really practice much defence outside of the Aegis Vocar shield, or I might have done that too."

"So," Tracey asked, leaning forwards, "now that we're… you know — actual friends and everything, how far ahead are you?"

Harry smiled, both at the concept of friends and at the memory of his refusing to answer that exact question. "Depends on the subject. I was casting charms and transfigurations today that I doubt we'll touch on until the Easter break, but I'm not as far ahead in other subjects like Astronomy or Potions."

Tracey's jaw hung agape, and even Daphne nodded appreciatively. After a moment of shock, Tracey asked the question that seemed to be burning a hole through her brain. 

"How?"

Harry couldn’t help it. he laughed quietly, which only caused Tracey to glare at him. In turn, this caused him to laugh harder, joined in now by Daphne. Laughing was another thing he couldn’t claim to he fond of. It had always signified danger at the Dursleys. If he laughed about something or showed amusement, that thing would be taken away. 

But he wouldn’t let the Dursleys deprive him of this, even if he had no plans of making a habit of it. It was such a natural, light feeling, one that he thought he enjoyed quite a lot.

"What are you two laughing at?" Tracey asked, crossing her arms.

"That look does not suit you," Daphne told her after stifling a giggle behind her hand. "You're way too bubbly to pull off the glare." She smirked evilly. "This is how you glare, Tracey." Daphne's eyes seemed to shoot sparks as she narrowed them at her best friend, causing Tracey to recoil. Harry laughed again, joined in by both Daphne and Tracey this time.

Finally, Daphne gained control. "Seriously though, how are you that far ahead?”

"Magic has always come naturally to me and I have a very good memory." He had used this line on them already, but Daphne chose not to point that out to him.

"How good is very good?" Daphne asked him, eyes narrowing.

He was happy she hadn’t asked him about the whole "magic has always come naturally to me thing". He had no way of explaining it — it was just true.

This time, Harry saw no reason to lie to them about it, so he dropped his voice to little more than a whisper. He wasn’t sure if this fact could be used against him if it was overheard. He decided not to take any chances. "Near eidetic," he admitted, causing Daphne's eyes to widen and Tracey to look confused.

"Near what? Eider-ick?" she asked.

"Eidetic," Daphne answered. "Somebody with an eidetic memory can remember everything they've ever done, heard or seen in vivid detail."

"Oh," Tracey said smartly.

"How close are you to that?" Daphne asked him, seeming genuinely interested.

"That's hard to say. After the age of three or four, it's all pretty much vivid. I can remember most books cover to cover on my first read, even though the odd one takes a second read depending on how complicated it is." He shrugged, smiling sheepishly as he did so. "The school textbooks are actually simpler than a lot of stuff I read before coming here, so they're not really a problem. I haven't memorized the older years’ sections yet for the ones that span multiple years."

"That must be handy!" Tracey noted admiringly.

"It certainly can be," Harry answered, choosing not to remark on the fact that he could remember all the bad things in his life in vivid detail as well. The laughing of a group of young boys, the slamming of a cupboard door, the sound of a belt whipping through the air…

'Mind out of the gutter, Potter.'

"Well," sighed Daphne, looking across the table at him, "care to put that brilliant brain of yours to use tonight?"

“You'll have to be more specific," said Harry, trying not to blush at the description. He noted, as incredible as it may be, that Daphne's comment, sarcastic or not, had probably been the first time he had ever truly been praised by somebody who was not a teacher, at least in such a blunt manner.

"I haven't quite managed the shield Professor Hurst was teaching in defence yet," she admitted. "Nor have I been able to do the full transfiguration. I'm pretty close to that one though."

"Speak for yourself," Tracey muttered.

Harry smiled, feeling the same, odd, warm feeling that had encompassed him when he had first formed his friendship with Daphne wash over him once more. He’d never had friends of any sort before, let alone friends who needed his help with something. It was a good feeling.

"I can try and help with that stuff, yeah," he said with a smile. "No promises though," He warned. "As I said, magic has always come pretty easily for me, so I'm not sure that I'm the best person to try and teach it."

The beaming smiles on both girl's faces made that night of helping the two of them all worth it, and thoughts of more practice were wiped clean from his mind the moment he saw them.

****_September 8, 1991_  
The Slytherin Common Room  
6:11 AM 

Harry entered the common room the next morning with his bag slung over his shoulder. He was intent on spending most of another day in the abandoned room practising. He wanted to finish the first year syllabus in at least Charms and Transfiguration, that way he could move onto next year’s. There were things about magic that he wanted to explore, but until he had a very strong foundation, that exploration would be impossible. This time, he was planning to hand a note off to a school owl, who would deliver it to Daphne that morning at breakfast. As it happened, it was unnecessary, for when he entered the common room, the voice that Harry associated with the girl in question spoke from an armchair near the fire.

"You really do wake up early, don't you?"

Harry added another tick in his mental chart calculating how many times witches and wizards lurked nearby him in shadows. Seriously, it had to be some sort of trend, or something.

Unphased, he just crooked an eyebrow. Daphne sounded tired, very tired. "And judging by your state, I’m guessing you don't."

"What is that supposed to mean, Potter?" asked Daphne, miming indignance as she stood, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him. Even though Harry knew it was a façade, he had to try very hard not to cringe under her stare.

"Nothing." 

She smiled at him. "Good answer; you're learning."

"With this brilliant brain of mine," he quoted, "I would like to think I'm a fast learner."

"Yet you were still about to rush off without telling me or Tracey," she accused.

Harry raised both of his hands in placation, tossing her the note he had been holding and causing her to jump in surprise, only just managing to snatch it out of the air. "I was going to send that to you at breakfast via owl, actually."

Daphne folded the note neatly and stuffed it into her pocket. "Maybe you do learn fast." she conceded. "But I still want to talk to you about something."

This was a conversation he had really hoped to put off, if not outright avoid altogether.

"Not here," he told her, his eyes flickering back to the tunnels that led to the dormitories.

Daphne crossed her arms again. "Where then?"

"Somewhere where people can't eavesdrop so easily," he answered, allowing his eyes to flash back to her. After a brief moment of inner debate, he nodded towards the exit. "I know a place; the same spot I practised yesterday, actually. I'll be using it pretty often, I think. I'll take you there if you're not afraid of the deep, dark dungeons."

Daphne sniffed, tilting her head up defiantly. "Lead on," she said a bit snottily, and Harry smiled at her manner as they left the common room and began to make their way down the long path to the room in question. "How long of a walk is it? I have no idea how far down the dungeons lead."

"Nor do I." he admitted. "I'll find out, but that's an adventure for another day. It's a fairly long walk."

"Can we talk on the way then?" 

"Sure, I don't suppose why not."

"Yesterday, there were a few things I just found… weird."

"Go on then."

"Well, when I mentioned the fact that you should have let me and Tracey know where you were going," she said, glaring at him briefly to emphasize the point, "you looked as if the thought had never even crossed your mind?"

"It hadn’t," he admitted after a brief pause, causing her to blink in surprise.

"What?"

He sighed, closing his eyes, and trying to control his racing heartbeat as he readied himself for what would be, if a half-truth, the most difficult admission of his life. 

"Look, Daphne, I don't really want to talk about it if I'm being honest, but I'm not exactly good at this whole friends thing." He drew air quotes around the last two words with his fingers and Daphne just looked all the more confused.

"You act as if you've never had a friend before," she said cautiously.

He closed his eyes one more time, fighting down the sudden impulse to flee.

Harry had a moment of intense, inner debate. Every instinct that had been carefully honed over the past ten years was screaming to keep his mouth shut. Yet there was a persistent part of him that wanted to tell her. A part of him that had stayed silent for so long and yearned to speak at long last.

It weren’t just instincts at war. There seemed to be two voices arguing intensely inside of his head. The first was pointing out the very real possibility that this pureblood princess would toss him to the side, that she would look at him as a freak the likes of which she could never relate to. The other voice was arguing that such things were not the impression it got from Daphne and that it was rarely, if ever wrong in regards to other people.

"Harry?" Daphne asked once the pause had stretched on for an unnatural amount of time.

"I haven't," he said softly, trying his best to keep his voice as close to hollow as he could manage.

"What-"

"I haven’t," he said, and this time his voice was louder, though he did not do as good of a job at keeping the bitterness and embarrassment from its tones.

"Harry… I..."

"My first two friends are you and Tracey."

He wasn’t entirely sure what made him say it. Perhaps ten years of silent suffering had finally broken his restraint. Now, with an actual opportunity to speak on the matter, his mouth seemed to move of its own accord.

There was silence between them for what felt like ages but was really less than a minute. Finally, as the light flowing through the corridor began to dim, Harry nearly jumped out of his skin as he felt a warm, soft hand take hold of his own. His grip was slack for a moment. He was not a person who enjoyed being touched, not in the slightest. For a moment, he had to fight the rather strong impulse to pull away. After a brief pause, he managed to give Daphne's hand a shaky squeeze, one that she returned more surely, though she did not let his hand fall.

"How?" she asked, her voice softer than Harry had ever heard it before.

"Daphne, I would rather not-"

"Harry, please."

She had come to a stop now, forcing him to do the same as she reached for his other hand. She held onto both of his hands tightly as she held them to her chest, forcing him to face her. At that moment, it was the odd, little things about her that struck him as he tried to think of anything but what he would have to say next. How warm and soft her hands were around his own. The strange, sweet smell of her perfume that he had never noticed before now. The fact that, notwithstanding his fairly average height, she was a couple of inches taller than him. He looked up into her brilliant, sapphire eyes and in spite of himself, despite every bit of his essence screaming that he should say nothing, his next words came out, though they were little more than a whisper.

"My relatives."

"What? Is that why you don't get along with your Brother?"

"Yes, but not in the way you think."

"How then? Explain it to me?"

He sighed in resignation. "I never knew my Brother until The Express, and I've still never met my Father. Well," he added when she gasped in shock, "not since my Mother died, anyway."

"But what… why?"

Harry smiled bitterly up at Daphne. "The truth," he mused, "not always pleasant. The truth is, the reason I'm probably not mentioned in whatever these stories are about my Brother that people keep going on about is that until now, most of the magical world didn't know I existed because… well, I wasn't in the magical world."

"Then, where were you?" asked Daphne, who, even in the dim light of their current corridor, was looking more horror-struck by the second.

"The muggle world. Best I can work out, my Father couldn't handle the pressure of raising the Boy-Who-Lived and his brother, so instead, he shipped me off to live with my Mother's muggle family; my Aunt, Uncle and Cousin."

"And they didn't treat you well, did they?" Daphne asked, her voice hardening as anger seemed to replace her horror. Daphne was, Harry had to admit, as well as annoyingly observant, rather sharp and intelligent. It was only inevitable that she would eventually put two and two together during his tale.

"You could say that, yes." 

Her grip on his hands suddenly became vice-like as she stared piercingly into his eyes. "What did they do?" she asked, and her voice was more dangerous than he had heard it thus far.

"Daphne," he protested, not quite ready to take that leap of faith, "not now."

"Harry-"

"Daphne… please." 

Please was yet another word he hated uttering. Again, painful memories that in his current mindset decided to press painfully against his mind.

"Please, Uncle Vernon, I just want a glass of water."

"Please, Aunt Petunia, I'm sore and sunburnt and really tired. Can I just come inside?"

"Please, Mrs. Hudson, don't write home to my Aunt and Uncle. I swear, it wasn't me. I don't know what happened to your hair."

"Please Uncle Vernon — not the belt."

"...not now… not yet." For the first time since his arrival at Hogwarts, Harry felt his voice shake and waver. Clearly sensing his unease, though Harry doubted that Daphne could understand the irrational panic rising within him, she relented, squeezing his hands gently.

"The only thing you need to know is that my Cousin was the important one, not me. They didn't like magic, and taught my Cousin not to either, even though he never realized what it was." Her grip tightened even more on his hands. "Without going into detail, he was bigger than me, and he liked to make sure I didn't make friends. Most of the school was scared of him, and I couldn't exactly magic myself out of trouble as a six or seven year old."

Not entirely true, but close enough.

He let his statement trail off, they both knew there was no need for him to finish it.

There was a second’s pause before, letting his hands gently fall, Daphne reached out slowly. She seemed to search his face for permission as she did so. After a second, she gently pulling him into the first hug he had ever experienced in living memory. At first, he tensed. He could tell that Daphne noticed. She made to release him, an apology on her lips as she assumed the worst. Taking a deep, centring breath before she could do so, Harry took the metaphorical plunge as he wrapped his own arms around her in return.

It took him several seconds to get his heart rate under control, though once he did, he found that the embrace was actually quite nice. However, it still seemed like a foreign concept.

"Thank you," Daphne muttered after several minutes of standing as they were, "that must have been… I didn't even imagine." She stepped back a bit, still holding onto him but creating some more space between them.

Harry looked at her with a rather bitter expression. "You never could have," he reassured her, before becoming more serious once again. "Daphne?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I need you to promise me something."

"Anything."

"This does not leave this corridor — ever."

"Harry-"

"Please, Daphne? Maybe someday, I'll either let you tell people, or I'll do it myself. But not now."

"But those muggles," she said darkly. "If the right people knew; my family could-"

"Ruin them? Yes, probably, but I don't care." Daphne made to cut in, but Harry silenced her by taking a firm grip on her hand. 

"Daphne, it's like this. It’s all I've ever known for as long as I can remember. When you grow up like that..." he shook his head, trying to put his thoughts into words. 

"You get used to it, I guess. I don't mean the actions, but the idea… the way you have to think. The truth is, I don't care what happens to my aunt, uncle, or cousin. I learned years ago that they don't matter. When I was really young, I would do things to try and get their attention, their approval." He smiled bitterly once more at the memories. "Eventually, I realized they didn't care, and you know what? They were happy, so I decided to give it a try.

"I stopped caring about them. I didn't care whether they paid attention to me, or whether they approved of what I did. Eventually, that's just how I thought, and now, I could care less about what happens to them. They're unimportant, insignificant. What happens to them doesn’t affect me. I don't need to see them punished. The same goes for my Father and Brother. All I need to do is prove to them they were wrong. Prove to the muggles that they picked the wrong child to place their hopes and dreams on. Prove to my Father that abandoning me was the worst choice he could ever make. All I need to do is outshine all of them, and make them all regret not getting in my good books while they had the chance. As long as I can do that, I'll be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This scene took place very early in the story. Some of you may say it happened too soon, which is fine, as it is your own opinion. At the end of the day, these are eleven-year-olds, and this is the first time Harry has ever had somebody willing to listen to his problems. I personally don’t think it too large a leap to assume he may actually take the opportunity, especially because he gave no specific details away.**
> 
> **A note on the pairing. This in no way suggests anything about it. There will be no romance before year three at the earliest. Please do not make assumptions this early, and please do not PM me asking about the pairing. I have received dozens of them and have never given it once. I am happy to answer questions via PM, just not any pertaining to pairings.**
> 
> **I will say that it is not slash, nor is it a multi or a harem story. Aside from that, you’ll have to wait and see.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised on September 14th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	8. Skirmishes, Secrets & Schemes Part I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
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_**September 9, 1991  
The Great Hall  
8:11 AM** _

_Dear Harry,_

_I can't even tell you how relieved and grateful I am to hear that you're willing to give me a chance. I completely understand why you would blame me for everything that's happened, and to be honest, I probably deserve that and worse for being such a neglectful prat._

_Don't worry about Charlus. He had it in his head that you were going to be brothers and best mates right away, and that the two of you would reign over the school in red and gold armour. As long as you're happy, your house doesn't make a huge difference to me, as long as you're not getting in with the wrong kind of Slytherins._

_The first Hogsmeade trip I could meet you on would be on the 11th of October._

_If that works for you, owl me back and I'll contact Professor Dumbledore. If he agrees, (which he will) I'll be sending you a little secret about the castle, so stay tuned!_

_I can't wait to finally see you again!_

_Your Father_

Harry's eyes roamed over the parchment for the fourth time as he tried to decide how he felt about what was sitting in front of him. It was true that he had felt compelled to give his father a chance, but in saying so, that did not mean that Harry forgave his father for everything that had happened. No matter how well the meeting went, Harry had the impression that those wounds cut too deep and there would always, to an extent, be a modicum of tension between the two of them.

"Who's that from?" asked Tracey absentmindedly as she raised a spoonful of cereal to her mouth. She, unlike Daphne, who was eyeing Harry suspiciously, had seemed to miss his change of mood.

"My Father," he answered shortly, stuffing the parchment into the pocket of his robes as he casually returned to the plate of fruit in front of him. From out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daphne's jaw tighten for the briefest of moments before she turned to him, her voice as calm as ever.

"What did he want?"

"To meet in Hogsmeade."

True to her word, Daphne had not told a soul, not even Tracey about what they had spoken about the previous morning. Harry wouldn’t outright lie to Tracey, but he was not quite ready to take that leap of faith again. In truth, he was not even entirely certain why he had taken it the first time. It had just been the perfect moment. Everything had aligned and he had a feeling the euphoria of his first true friendship probably had something to do with it. Besides, he wasn’t lying to her, even if it was only a half-truth. It was, as a matter of fact, not at all unusual for an heir to meet up with their head of house in the village while at school. Admittedly, it was quite a bit rarer for those in the first and second year, but even then, Harry very much doubted it was unheard of.

"What do we have today?" Daphne asked him, casually diverting the conversation before Tracey could become too curious, something that Harry appreciated greatly.

"Potions, Charms, and double Defence Against the Dark Arts," Harry answered without pause.

"I think I'll work with you today in Potions, Harry," said Daphne. "Since Friday is the double period, I'll rotate between partnering with each of you on that day. Since I partnered with you last Friday, I'll partner with Tracey this Friday."

Harry smiled at her. It was still odd to have somebody helping him at anything. "Sounds fair enough to me," he agreed.

"As long as you help me tonight with Snape's prep!" put in Tracey, causing Harry to smirk and Daphne to roll her eyes.

"We haven't even got to the class yet, Tracey. For all you know, Snape might not even give prep."

"I know all I need to know, Daphne. It's Snape; he's going to give prep."

"I've got to put my chips in Tracey's corner on this one," admitted Harry with a sly smile. Daphne just looked at him, clearly puzzled.

"Put your what in what corner?"

Now Tracey cracked up and Harry too rolled his eyes, though the effect was slightly ruined by the smile he was fighting back. "Chips as in poker?" Daphne still looked as confused as ever. "You know what? Never mind, it's a muggle thing. You pureblooded lot are impossible."

Daphne just stuck her nose up at him. "We'll see who's impossible today in Potions, Potter," she snarked.

Harry's lips twitched. "As we shall see in Charms and Defence, Greengrass."

"I'll have you know that I am far more capable in both of those subjects than you are in Potions." 

"In Charms, granted, but only because you’re actually quite good at it. As far as Defence goes, I’ll agree to disagree, but maybe that's just me." Tracey stifled a giggle as Daphne mock glared at Harry.

"Are you implying incompetence on my part, Potter?" she asked, trying to force as much artificial coolness into her voice as she could manage.

"Not at all, Miss Greengrass," Harry returned in a perfectly pleasant voice; a placid smile pasted upon his face. "I’m just implying your overconfidence and natural self-bias, that's all."

"Be careful, Harry," Tracey warned him through giggles. "You're working with her in Potions. She could easily disguise some explosive mistake as a handy shortcut."

"Unlikely. The pureblood princess would not dare do anything to unsettle her luscious locks."

"Something else is about to be a lot less luscious if you don't shut up very quickly," said Daphne in a poisonously sweet voice. Harry made a show of snapping his mouth shut and sending her a mock, terrified stare but she ignored him. "You're supposed to be on my side, Tracey."

"Yes, but it's so refreshing to see somebody who can actually keep up with you! I can't help it! It's just so much fun!"

Daphne rolled her eyes. "You're both impossible."

It turned out that Daphne did not sabotage their potion that morning, as once again, they handed in a perfectly brewed potion twenty-five minutes ahead of the rest of the class. Snape almost looked exasperated, but as Daphne had been essentially coaching Harry through the process, he could hardly accuse her of doing his work for him.

Not that he would accuse a Slytherin, anyway.

The Charms lesson that followed was, unfortunately, lecture-heavy once more. They had still yet to perform any actual magic within the class. Flitwick did assure them that would be changing during their double period on Wednesday.

Lunch passed without incident and Harry walked with Tracey and Daphne up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Once again, Professor Hurst was seated behind her desk, but this time, she was writing at top speed and did not so much as glance up from the task in front of her until the bell rang, at which point she closed the book that she had been writing in and swept gracefully to her feet.

One thing that distinguished Professor Hurst from the rest of Harry's teachers was that, except for the first lesson, she didn’t taken the register. Instead, she had simply allowed her eyes to roam over them. She seemed to work with memory alone before beginning her lesson. Today was no different, as once she saw that everybody was present, she folded her hands in front of her chest and began the lesson.

"Every single one of you regardless of intelligence or ability will know that the title of this course is Defence Against the Dark Arts." They all peered up at her from their seats, clearly flummoxed as to where this could be going. "To understand what I intend to teach you this year, it is important that you understand exactly what this course is and is not going to be teaching you.

"To be more specific, let us examine the title of this course more critically. For the sake of each and every single one of you, I sincerely hope that I do not need to explain the definition of defence, so I am simply going to be moving on to the far more interesting component of the title. What," she asked the class, "are the Dark Arts?"

There was a far longer pause than normal before tentatively, Tracey's hand rose into the air. "Yes, Miss Davis?"

"Magic that the ministry has restricted."

"In a sense, I suppose you're right." Professor Hurst took a long, drawn-out moment to look at each of them, and when she looked at Harry, he had to suppress a shiver from running down his back. "That is half of the answer that the Ministry would like for me to give you. The other half of that answer, if any are curious, is that the dark arts are a vile, evil, and dangerous form of magic. I, however, would like to go a bit deeper. What, according to the Ministry, leads to magic being classified as dark?"

Again, there was a long, drawn-out pause before tentatively, Lillian Moon raised her hand into the air. "Because it can cause harm to a witch or wizard."

"Correct." Despite her affirmation, Harry could tell that Professor Hurst didn’t agree with the definition. Come to think of it, neither did he. That was rubbish!

As if she could sense what he was thinking, Professor Hurst's eyes fell upon Harry. "Did you have a question or comment, Master Potter?"

Harry wanted to answer no. He knew that the smart thing to do was to answer no, but under the professor's intense, expectant stare, he found that he could not do it. Idly, he noted that at least nobody in this class was likely to judge him negatively even if he were to openly praise the Dark Arts.

"Well, that is completely ridiculous, isn’t?"

The class went dead silent, though Harry noticed that Malfoy was shooting him what he thought was a rather calculating, almost approving look.

"Please explain further, Master Potter."

“Well, almost any kind of magic can technically be harmful. That definition would make almost anybody in the world a wanted criminal.”

"Explain further."

"Well, I could damage somebody with basic, first year spells. I could shine the Lumos spell directly in somebody's eyes and cause visual damage. I could hit somebody with a tickling hex while they were at the top of a set of stares and send them tumbling to their death." He shrugged. "I could go on, and on, and on."

"Indeed, you could," Hurst agreed with a small smile. “I am contracted to teach you a curriculum that is approved by the Ministry of Magic, but I fail to see why I cannot present both sides of a long-contested debate as long as I make no attempt to influence your own decisions.

"You see, even the most staunch supporters of the Ministry do not believe in that specification. Many, however, believe that magic created with its primary purpose being to cause harm is dark in nature. The opposition to this way of thinking would say that the Ministry classification, and by extension, this popular ideology is used as a mechanism of control. After all, if one is to set such a broad spectrum for what is and is not dark, then those in power could decide on a case by case basis as they please. The supporters of this idea tend to argue that the Ministry sets a broad definition as a last resort, but really only punishes the most heinous of magic. You could certainly find examples throughout history to support both theories, so neither could be fundamentally proven right or wrong." Her eyes roamed over them again before she spoke, and her voice lowered an octave.

"Some say that this way of thinking is foolish. They believe that magic is a blank canvas for one to paint their intent upon. They say that evil is in the intent. They say that any magic cast with the intent of causing serious harm is dark magic. They would often use defences very similar to the one that Master Potter implored only moments ago. They would, in some extreme cases, even go above and beyond and apply their logic onto the opposite end of the spectrum. 

“They would say that, for example, the killing curse, which I shall not speak the incantation of, was originally created to slay cattle and livestock in a quick, painless, convenient manner. History would support their argument, and they would say that the evil in such a curse is its blatant misuse in the hands of those who would wish to abuse it. Of course, there are flaws in this argument too, especially when examining it from a moral standpoint. However, I am not here to teach you lessons in human morality: I am here to teach you lessons in defending yourself against the dark arts.

"No matter which definition you choose to rest your flag atop, the premise remains the same. Dark magic is dangerous and is most often wielded with malicious intent. Only through a sound, strong, steadfast defence can one defend themselves from another who truly wishes to harm them." 

She paused then, giving the seemingly dumbstruck class several moments to recover. "Now, I would like you to spend the next hour writing an answer to the question, what, in your eyes, makes magic dark? I would also like for you to provide me with at least three examples, and a sound, detailed defence for at least two of them. After the hour has expired, we shall see which of you have made some progress with the Aegis Vocar shield. If these papers are not done by the end of the lesson today, they will be done at the start of our period together on Thursday."

Harry was reasonably impressed with the progress of some. Theodore Nott had the shield charm essentially mastered, though his variant could not withstand half of what his own could. Daphne too was in a similar spot to Nott, as were Malfoy and Zabini. Tracey and Pansy Parkinson could conjure a weak variant of the shield.

Though Harry had performed well, earning ten points for Slytherin on his own while in the process, his mind was not on the shield charm. Professor Hurst, though full of praise in front of the rest of the class must have noticed, for when the bell rang, her voice rang out as well.

"Master Potter, stay behind please."

"We'll wait for you," Daphne promised, but Harry waved his hand dismissively.

"No, it's fine; go on. I doubt this will take long. I'll meet you both in the common room and we can work on Snape's essay." The two of them left grudgingly, but they left nonetheless, and Harry walked over to and stood in front of Professor Hurst's desk, where she was currently sitting and writing something on a small piece of parchment.

"You wanted to speak with me, Professor?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Yes, I did, though only briefly." She glanced up at him and smiled reassuringly in a way that instantly wiped all worry from his mind. "You are not in trouble, Master Potter, do not worry." She reached for the piece of parchment she had been scribbling on and held it out to him. "I got the impression that you were rather fixated on our discussion from the beginning of the lesson. You are far from the first and you will be far from the last. I can only say so much in my position, but there is a book in the Hogwarts Library that I think will serve you well if you wish to further explore the topic."

"Uh… thank you, professor. What is this?" He asked, taking the offered slip of parchment from her.

"This is a permission slip to retrieve the book in question from the restricted section."

Harry had to try hard not to gape at her. He knew, of course, of the restricted section. He had heard only of sixth and seventh year students who were working on rather complex assignments gaining access. Earlier, he had actually heard a fifth year loudly complaining that Professor McGonagall had refused to grant him a slip.

Harry looked down at his slip and his face blanked for a moment. He knew that, on these slips, a specific book was supposed to be listed. On Harry's however, the only specification was that he was to be able to enter the section. For a second, his mouth opened as he made to correct the professor's mistake, but in mid-thought, he froze and thought better of it. Why would he give this up?

"Is something wrong?”

At that moment, he knew, just knew that for whatever reason Professor Hurst had not made a mistake at all.

"No, nothing at all, Professor."

"Very well, off you go then, Master Potter. I have essays to mark, and I am sure you have some of your own to write."

When he left the classroom and shut the door behind him, only then did Harry notice that on the back of the slip, was a title written in small, elegant handwriting.

_Intent is Power by Emeric Emalaus_

_**Several hours later, in the Slytherin common room...** _

Harry, Daphne and Tracey all left their first practical lesson in Charms in high spirits. They had gone over two charms that double period. Lumos, the spell used to light one's wand, as well as the colour changing spell. Harry had already known that he would have no issues with these two spells, but there was something inherently satisfying about performing them in a classroom environment. To his delight, both Daphne and Tracey had done well too.

Daphne, to her credit, had completed both of the spells on her first attempt with absolutely no issue. She and Harry were the only two students in the class who could boast of this. Tracey had managed Lumos on her first go, as had most of the class. The colour alteration charm had taken her a few attempts, but she was still the fifth one in the lesson to get it, though Nott had admittedly been right behind her. The only ones to get it faster were Harry, Daphne, Malfoy and Zabini.

Still exalting in the lesson, Harry barely noticed the commotion in the common room until Daphne threw out her arm to stop him, clearly seeing he was spaced out. There was a crowd of people gathered around the notice board, so Harry, Tracey and Daphne crept slowly towards it.

"Stay here," Daphne told them, patting them both mockingly on the heads before going to investigate. As she was the tallest of the three of them, she would therefore have the best odds of seeing over the crowd.

She returned a few minutes later with a rather pensive expression.

"What is it?" asked Tracey, predictably beating Harry to the proverbial punch as she was literally bouncing in anticipation.

"There's a bunch of stuff about Hogsmeade, Gobstones and the rest, but the important thing for us is that tomorrow, we have our first flying lesson with the first year Gryffindors."

At this proclamation, Tracey paled as her eyes widened in surprise, but Harry had feelings for only himself. His heart had leapt into his throat, and he could barely keep the manic smile from making itself present upon his face.

_**September 12, 1991  
The Grounds of Hogwarts  
3:30 PM** _

"Punctual as ever," Harry muttered as the first year Gryffindors made their approach. With the exception of Hermione Granger, none of them had arrived prior to the entirety of Slytherin's first year being gathered, something that amused Harry greatly. Clearly, Daphne was amused too, as Harry saw her lips twitch, a rarity in public, and Tracey stifled a giggle behind her hand despite herself.

Their instructor, an older, strict looking woman by the name of Madam Hooch promptly told them to stand beside a broom, stick out their right hand, and call "up!"

"Up!" chorused the class, and a handful of brooms shot into outstretched hands. To Harry's delight and mild relief, his broom rocketed into his hand without hesitation. To his mild dismay, so too did Malfoy's.

The boy had been droning on and on in the common room the night before to anyone who would listen about how brilliant he was on a broom. By the end of his rant, he was pretty sure that even the quiet Theodore Nott, who always stood alongside him was about ready to snap. Aside from Malfoy, Charlus's broom had also obeyed him on command, as did Ron Weasley's, which mildly annoyed Harry as he considered the boy incompetent. Daphne's broom had leapt off the ground but had not quite made it all the way into her hand. Harry smirked at her as covertly as he could. She clearly did not fail to notice.

If looks could kill…

Most people's brooms had behaved similarly to Daphne's, though Longbottom's and Granger's seemed particularly uncooperative. Harry saw, out of the corner of his eye, Pansy Parkinson quickly snatch hers off of the ground, but he was fairly sure he was the only one to catch her in the act.

Once everyone had, through one means or another, attained a firm grip on their broomstick, Madam Hooch marched around the lines of students, correcting their grips as she went. Harry was mildly proud when her only acknowledgement of him was an approving nod. Both Weasley and his Brother got the same treatment, though Harry could have sung aloud when Draco Malfoy had his grip firmly corrected.

"I have been doing it this way for years!" he drawled in a voice that was surprisingly condescending for an eleven-year-old.

"Well, it’s not my fault that you have been doing it wrong for years, Mister Malfoy."

That comment shut Draco up in a hurry.

"Now," she called to the class at large, "when I blow my whistle you will all kick-off, raise slowly into the air and fly a very slow, very controlled lap of the area after hovering until you feel comfortable. On my command. One, two…"

But she never got to three.

Seemingly in a panic, one of the Gryffindors — Longbottom, had kicked off the ground too early, clearly fearful of being left behind.

"Come back here, boy!" Hooch cried up to him, but it was no good. Longbottom's broom was steadily rising faster and faster into the air and Harry could see his grip was sliding. He was doubtful the boy would manage to keep hold of the broomstick for more than a few seconds longer.

Indeed, exactly a few seconds later, his assumption was proven correct. Longbottom finally lost grip on his broomstick and plummeted to the earth like a stone, hitting the ground with a rather sickening crack and promptly bursting into tears.

Harry winced internally for him. He wasn’t sure what would be worse; breaking a bone, or crying in public.

"Broken wrist," Madam Hooch declared upon the completion of her examination. "Come on dear, up you get." She hauled a still teary-eyed Neville Longbottom to his feet, pausing in her exit only long enough to glare at the lot of them and deliver a final, resounding warning. "If any of you so much as think about your feet leaving the ground, you'll be packed and on the train back to London faster than you can say Quidditch!"

Cynically, Harry considered that warning far too cliché to result in anything but complete chaos.

He was proven correct less than a minute later. Once Hooch and Longbottom were out of earshot, Malfoy burst into derisive laughter. "Did you see his face?" he asked Crabbe and Goyle, causing both of them to guffaw as stupidly as ever.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" snapped a pretty girl with long dark hair from Gryffindor. Patil, Parvati Patil was her name.

"Eww, I didn't think you'd be the fat cry-baby type, Parvati!" Pansy mocked the other girl, causing her to blush bright red and quickly retreat.

Harry's eyes narrowed. Though to most, a remark that seemed so childish in nature may have been viewed as such, Harry wasn’t quite sure that there had not been a lot more to that exchange than he had thought. The obvious bit was that Parkinson had used Patil's first name, which Harry thought likely meant they knew each other in some way, though it clearly wasn’t overly positive. The other and more subtle subtext was Parkinson's timing.

Right as Patil had cut down Malfoy, Parkinson had sliced her down with twice as much fervour. It may have been a step far for Malfoy to have a go at Patil, but for some reason, it just seemed more acceptable for Parkinson to do so. She had read, understood, and reacted to the situation faster than Harry could blink, and opened the door for Malfoy to continue his drama if he chose. Yet it also hadn’t closed his out if he still wished to take it.

Perhaps Harry had underestimated Pansy Parkinson.

In his seconds of pondering, Harry had missed Malfoy bending down to retrieve something. When he straightened up, he was grinning broadly, and Harry could see something transparent shining in his fist.

"Look at this!" Malfoy drawled with obvious disdain. "It seems that Longbottom, in his infinite grace, has somehow managed to lose his Remembrall." Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and Bullstrode snickered, and Harry could see a smile playing on Theodore Nott's lips.

"Give it here, Malfoy."

The gathered crowd went completely silent as slowly but deliberately, Charlus Potter stepped forward, coming face to face with the slightly taller Malfoy Heir, hand outstretched.

Malfoy just pulled the ball lazily behind his back. "Give it to you, Potter? Why would I do such a thing?"

Charlus gritted his teeth, clearly doing his best to keep a handle on his temper. Harry could see already that it was an exercise in futility. His fingers twitched in anticipation, ready to summon his wand at a moment's notice.

"Because it's an antique family heirloom!" Charlus bit out through still gritted teeth. As he said this, several gears whirred in Harry's mind, and his eyes sharpened as his mind debated the pros, cons, and potential methods for a quickly forming plan.

"Why Potter," simpered Malfoy, "I wouldn’t dream of damaging something so prestigious. All I want to do is help Longbottom out a little bit. I’m sure he would improve on a broomstick if he had — proper motivation."

“Give. It. Here!"

"Maybe if I were to..oh, I don't know — put it in a tree?"

"Malfoy-"

"I don’t think that would be in your best interest, Malfoy.”

Everybody turned in shock to the Slytherin side of the clearing, many sets of wide, surprised eyes falling upon the small, raven-haired boy who had spoken. Daphne elbowed him in the ribs, subtly indicating he was making a mistake. He knew as well as she did that it was an unwritten rule within Slytherin House that they were not to oppose one another in the open. Alas, rules, particularly unwritten ones, had their loopholes.

Malfoy shot Harry a look that was half calculating and half ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing’ before, slowly, carefully, he spoke. "And why, Competent Potter, would that be?" Harry saw Charlus flush red and though he did not want to admit it, he had to verbally give a point to Malfoy for the use of Snape's method of differentiating the two twins.

"Come off it, Malfoy. We've all seen Longbottom's, how did you put it — infinite grace? If you move the Remembrall, no matter your intentions… well, I think both of us can see how that would end. I doubt that Augusta Longbottom would be pleased if her family heirloom were to be damaged.” 

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and Harry was fairly certain that he knew there was more at play than what he was seeing, but Harry also knew that he realized he had been trapped. "Fine," Malfoy said, shrugging his shoulders with the air of somebody who was not overly bothered. "I will take it upon myself and House Malfoy to assure that the heirloom in question is returned."

"Not a chance, Malfoy," Charlus cut in coldly, holding out his hand once more. "You're no ally of house Longbottom, and you'll probably lose the thing the first chance you get. I'll take the Remembrall to Neville."

Malfoy sneered. "If you really care about Longbottom's Remembrall, Potter, you probably shouldn't trust somebody with the mannerisms of a blasting curse to bring it to him," Malfoy smirked. "Even if that person is you."

"Give. It. Here!" Charlus demanded, and his voice grew in volume.

"No, I don't think I-" but Malfoy was cut off as he was forced to throw himself to the side as pandemonium broke out.

Charlus's wand had shot into his hand in the blink of an eye, and the boil hex he sent hurtling at Malfoy was only just dodged. Chaos ensued as Ron Weasley, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas all drew their wands and took aim at Malfoy while Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, and the two gorillas aimed at the Gryffindors. 

Within moments, there was a four aside duel on the grounds. Well, sort ofCrabbe and Goyle were completely inept so they might as well have counted for a half each. Parkinson was surprisingly competent, and Nott was clearly the best in the field. Crabbe and Goyle didn’t last long before stumbling backwards under spell-fire, but Nott seemed perfectly capable of keeping Thomas and Finnigan on the defensive. And in short order, Weasley had cried out as he fell to Parkinson, rather nasty burns now covering his face. Pansy's mocking laughter and the sound of spell-fire from Nott and the Gryffindors were cut off a moment later by a loud scream from Hermione Granger.

The class turned, including the duelling combatants and all froze as one, as Charlus Potter chased Draco Malfoy into the sky while the latter held what appeared to be the former's wand in his hand.

'Shouldn't have got distracted by your friend’s problems, little brother,' Harry thought as finally, he felt the small glass ball slam into his palm. Wandless summoning of the object had been much harder this time, as he had not actually been able to see where it was.

By the time he looked up to watch Malfoy and his brother, the skirmish was all but over. Malfoy hurled Charlus's wand at the ground, causing the other boy to dive after it at terminal velocity and make what even Harry had to admit was an absolutely miraculous catch. Charlus's ecstasy and Malfoy's dismay lasted approximately three seconds.

"CHARLUS POTTER!"

'Well, this day just got a lot more interesting.'

_**About an hour later, in the Hospital Wing...** _

Harry had found himself rather inspired by the duel he had witnessed earlier that day. After making a point of telling Daphne and Tracey where he was going, if admittedly not what he was doing, Harry slipped out of the Slytherin common room with the library in mind as a final destination.

The library may have been his final destination, but it was not his first.

As he entered the Hospital Wing, a place that was almost comically white in colour, Harry spotted a middle-aged woman whom he assumed to be the matron. 

"Excuse me," he asked politely, prompting her to turn around and look at him, "would it be at all possible to see Neville Longbottom? I don't need long, I promise. He lost something during his fall, and I want to make sure he gets it back." Harry smiled his most winning, most charming smile up at the woman whom he could just tell was rather stern. 

He was quickly learning that, aside from magic, there really was not a whole lot that separated wizards and witches from muggles in many ways. This was one of them. For most people caught unaware in either the magical or mundane world, an innocent smile as disarming as the one that Harry had mastered was a fantastic way of getting what you wanted.

"Oh, of course, dear. He won't be here much longer anyway, so I suppose there’s no harm." Madam Pomfrey, as he had been told her name was by the woman herself moments later led Harry to a bed with drawn curtains. She told him that Neville was inside before bustling off in the other direction. Keeping his face blank but making sure his hands were empty and clearly displayed, Harry pushed aside the curtain and slid through.

"Good afternoon, Heir Longbottom."

The boy in question, who was reading what appeared to be a book of some sort on magical plants flinched horribly upon hearing Harry's voice. Harry suspected that had he been standing and able to jump, he may very well have put his head through the ceiling. When Longbottom's eyes found him, he only paled further and when he spoke his voice came out in a hurried stammer.

"H-H-Heir P-P-Potter?"

Harry smiled that same, disarming smile, watching as Neville's nerves visibly settled, if only a little bit. "Calm down, Longbottom," Harry assured him easily. "I have no plans that involve me cursing you and it would be a shame if I was implicated in your sudden death via panic-induced heart attack."

Harry saw the corners of Longbottom's lips twitch, but he still seemed too nervous to smile properly. "W-why did you come then?" Longbottom asked, still clearly wary of the first year Slytherin.

In response, Harry reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew the small, glass Remembrall he had managed to summon to himself during the class. "I'll be frank, Longbottom. I have absolutely no idea what a Remembrall is or what it does, but I heard that this one, in particular, is a rare family heirloom of yours, and thought it only right that it was returned to you."

Neville looked shell shocked as slowly, with a visible pinch of hesitation, he reached out, seeming to believe it was some sort of trap until the last second when his hand closed protectively around the Remembrall and brought it back into his chest.

"Thank you," Longbottom breathed out in little more than a whisper, seeming to be as surprised as he was relieved.

Harry shrugged casually. "No need to thank me for being a decent human being. I'm sure that some of your friends would have brought it to you if I hadn't."

Harry watched Longbottom deflate. It was a rather painful seed to plant in the boy's head, especially as it struck far too close to home for Harry, but in the end, concessions had to be made.

"I don't have any friends," Neville said meekly, and Harry's face promptly slid to an expression of moderately horrified skepticism.

"Come off it, Longbottom. I'm sure that you must be exaggerating?"

Neville just shook his head miserably. "No offence, Potter," he said bitterly, "but if I had real friends, not just people who said they were my friends, I doubt it would be a Slytherin bringing me the Remembrall."

Briefly, Harry wondered whether Charlus genuinely considered Longbottom a friend or whether he just wanted to stick it to Malfoy where it hurt. He did not ponder this for long, as he shoved the thought ruthlessly from his mind.

"Well," Harry said softly, stepping closer and biting back his impulses in order to lay what he hoped was a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "There are always better friends out there. You just have to know where to look."

**_Some time later, in the Great Hall..._ **

After he had spent a couple of hours in the library reading up on a variety of hexes and curses that he thought would be useful and mentally noting the ones he thought doable at his current level, Harry made his way into the Great Hall for a quick, late dinner. Upon arriving, he smiled, noticing that, as was now becoming customary, Daphne and Tracey had saved him a seat. His smile wavered a second later, however, when he noticed that both Daphne and Parkinson, who had apparently chosen to sit with the two girls over Malfoy were not looking at him. Even more of a red flag to Harry was Tracey, who was glancing rather nervously between the three of them.

He sat down and didn’t even bother reaching for utensils. Instead, he peered from Daphne, to Tracey, to Parkinson and had to try very hard to resist the urge to look past their eyes. In the case of Daphne and Tracey, he thought it likely quite immoral on his part to violate their minds and as for Parkinson, well… Harry had never quite figured out why he had been shoved so forcefully from Charlotte's and Snape's thoughts and he had not yet discounted the possibility that this ability of his only extended to muggles.

"Is somebody going to explain to me why the three of you are suddenly looking at me as if I’m a ticking time bomb that is going to go off at any moment?"

"A what?" asked Parkinson, baffled.

Harry pressed his hands to his temples and pulled a face. "Never mind… it's a muggle thing, but that's not important right now. Let me rephrase that. Are any of you going to tell me what has happened while I was in the library that you are so certain will draw a negative reaction from me?"

Tracey blushed and looked down. Daphne and Parkinson did not look at one another, though Harry could tell they were having an internal discussion of sorts and again, the thought to try and look past Parkinson's eyes was so very tempting.

"Well," Parkinson began, clearly having lost whatever battle she had partaken in with Daphne, "I hope, for your sake, you could have guessed that everyone was wondering what would happen to your brother?" Harry nodded. "Well, I have it on rather good authority — and keep your mouth shut about it, Potter, or I'll have the whole of the seventh year against you in an instant, that your brother's fate has been decided."

"Ah," said Harry, nodding along slowly, noting Parkinson's threat as he realized why they thought he was going to explode, "he's been expelled then?" he asked conversationally, trying to ponder all the ways this could complicate his position.

Parkinson exchanged a final look with Daphne before, in spite of herself, she smiled as she leant forwards. "No, actually, he's been made the Gryffindor seeker."

All of Harry's pondering stopped in that one, exact instant as his mind simply blanked, failing to register what Parkinson had just said. For the first time in public since his arrival at Hogwarts, Harry's mask cracked. His jaw hung slack for several, long seconds as his eyes practically bulged out of his head.

"I think I broke him," Pansy said jovially with a giggle, seeming remarkably unbothered.

Harry took several long seconds to process this before he slammed his head against the table, hard, pressing his hands hard into his temples for reasons that had nothing to do with a headache.

"So you mean to tell me," he hissed to the three of them in a low, dangerous voice, "that Charlus Potter, the famed Boy-Who-Lived broke… I don't even know how many school rules, defied direct orders from a teacher, was caught in the act and was REWARDED by being given the one thing he probably wanted above anything else?" The three girls nodded cautiously, and Harry slammed his head against the table again, ignoring Daphne's reprimand, which was made half for his decorum, half for his health. 

"What the fuck is wrong with this school?" he asked nobody in particular. "What kind of school lets somebody get away with that just because they're famous?" He pressed his hands to his temples once more. "Why do I even bother?" He rounded on Parkinson. "And let me guess? You, Nott, Crabbe and Goyle have detention while the defenceless Gryffindors only lost points?"

"Close," Parkinson admitted moodily. "Crabbe and Goyle lost ten points each; same with the lions, and Theodore and I have detention with McGonagall this Saturday."

"GAH!" Harry exclaimed, pressing so hard on his temples he was sure he would compress his own skull. "What. The. Fuck is wrong with this school?" 

He didn’t really care that the rather colourful language he was employing was not standard for an eleven-year-old. Vernon Dursley had been a rather crass individual and Harry had heard plenty of his rants growing up. So what if he had taken after some of his more colourful language in a rather rare situation that he never thought he would find himself in?

Suddenly not in the mood for food anymore, Harry swept to his feet and made to leave the hall. He was swiftly followed closely by Daphne and Tracey, who were both probably concerned for his sanity, and Parkinson, who, if he was going to do anything stupid, probably wanted to be there to see it. As he was walking past the red and gold table, he heard a familiar, drawling voice ring out through the hall.

"I could take you any day on my own just fine, Potter."

Harry should not turn, he knew he should not turn, but despite himself, he stopped and turned, subconsciously drifting closer to the place where Draco Malfoy was arguing with his brother.

"I hear a lot of talk and don't see a lot of action, Malfoy!" sniped back Charlus.

Malfoy sneered. "Fine then, Potter, have it your way. Tonight, me and you in the trophy room; a wizard's duel. If, of course, you're wizard enough for it."

"Of course he is!" Ron Weasley spat furiously. "He could trounce you any day, Malfoy. I'm his second! Who's yours?"

For a second, Malfoy pondered the thought as he glanced from Crabbe to Goyle, and then, coincidentally, his eyes fell on Harry.

"Competent Potter," he answered in the most superior, most ridiculously victorious voice Harry could imagine.

'You have got to be kidding me! This day will never end!'

Charlus sneered at Harry in obvious dislike. "My brother might be a git, just like the rest of you idiots in Slytherin, but he won't second you in a duel against his own brother." Charlus turned to Harry, scowling in a very Uncle Vernon like way as he asked, "Will you?" with as much bitterness and resentment as he could muster.

On one hand, Harry could not outright deny Malfoy's plea for help, even though he knew full well Malfoy: A, was using Harry in order to trap him in a terrible position, paying Harry back in a sense for how he had done the same to him earlier; and B, even knowing that Malfoy had absolutely no intentions of showing up to that duel. If he turned Malfoy down, he was showing not only an obvious break in house unity, but he was doing so to the benefit of a Gryffindor, and the Boy-Who-Lived to boot, family or not. To do so would be akin to high treason and political suicide. At best, he would be an outcast, at worst… well, he would quickly find out uses of the worst curses that were not strictly illegal

On the other hand, Harry could hardly second Malfoy against his own brother. Not only would it shatter any bit of obligatory cordiality Harry and Charlus still shared, but it would absolutely set his brother, and possibly even his father against him.

'Think, Potter, think.'

There was no way out of this one. House or blood? Friends or family?

Unless…

Harry glared at Charlus. "I won't second my housemate against the git of a brother who turned on me the moment I was sorted? The brother who has turned his entire house since the sorting? The brother that has everything handed to him by everybody because they all think, just like he does, that he's so special?" Harry did his best to imitate Malfoy's sneer. "Whatever gives you that impression, little brother?"

Charlus's jaw fell open as his face flushed scarlet. "You bloody wanker!" Weasley bellowed at Harry, but he didn’t even react, he just kept his face blank.

Now, for stage two.

"Come off it, Weasley. I wouldn't call anybody anything when you're the idiot of a pureblood who doesn't even know his rights within a wizard's duel."

All of a sudden, Malfoy's expression went from positively smug and jovial to mildly concerned. Harry saw him shake his head forcefully in his peripheral vision, but he pretended not to notice.

"Shut up, snake!" spat Ron. "I know more about magic and duelling than you do!"

"Do you, Weasley?" Harry drawled in the most condescending tone he could muster. "if that’s true, why have you not specified the time and place of the duel? You’re the challenged party, it‘s your right?" 

The only reason Harry knew this at all was because it was in his book on the Wizengamot and its politics. Apparently, honour duels used to be fairly common, so the book detailed their rules quite thoroughly.

Harry heard Malfoy curse behind him and froze, a look of mock horror on his face as he shot an exaggerated look of guilt and terror towards Malfoy. "Oh, oops; I wasn't supposed to tell him that, was I?"

As Malfoy shot him a withering glare that promised the most hellacious retribution the world could offer, Harry merely shot him a very brief, but very pleasant smile, and the other boy did not miss the mischief in his eyes.

**_Later that night, in the Trophy Room..._ **

With Harry's intervention, the duel between Charlus and Malfoy was set to take place at 9:00 that evening in the Trophy Room. This would put the duel an hour before curfew, making the benefit for Malfoy to no show negligible at best. After a cold, quiet walk where Harry nor Malfoy said a word to one another, the two of them stepped into the Trophy Room, where Ron and Charlus were already waiting for them.

Idly, Harry thought that if Malfoy brought half the anger he clearly harboured towards him into this duel, he might just do what the Dark Lady failed to accomplish almost a decade earlier.

Malfoy had said nothing, but the withering, vengeful glares he had shot Harry all evening had been indicative enough of what the blond Slytherin thought of his raven-haired counterpart. All in all, Harry had to congratulate himself on a job well done. Now, there was only one more step to his plan.

It was a risk to piss off Malfoy as much as he was right now, but Harry thought it worth it. Though Malfoy technically had not done anything to Harry, that only made it the perfect time to strike while his enemy was least expecting it. If he could get Malfoy caught out of bounds duelling the Boy-Who-Lived in his second week of Hogwarts, preferably a bit worse for wear as well, he would shred the blond's credibility and political standing in Slytherin, even in spite of his name.

There was also the fact that the blond was just generally a git.

"Oh wow, you actually showed up," Charlus commented with mock surprise, looking for all the world as if Christmas had come early. Malfoy's jaw was set. To a casual observer, he looked confident, if a bit miffed. To Harry, he looked twitchy, uncertain and very much like a person who was completely and totally surrounded.

Still, Harry had to give credit where credit was due. Even now, easily the most flustered Harry had ever seen him, Malfoy managed his typical sneer with trademarked perfection. "I'm not afraid of you, Potter," he drawled, shooting a look over his shoulder to Harry that clearly said "either of you"

"Can we get this started already?" Charlus asked, his wand snapping into his hand as he smiled predatorily at Malfoy.

Harry almost facepalmed. The idiot hadn’t even had his wand ready!

In response, Malfoy's wand flew from his sleeve and he lunged forward, sending a rather painful variant of a boil hex straight towards Charlus's face. Charlus simply rolled to the side, coming perfectly up to his feet with his wand outstretched, returning fire with a leg locker curse. Harry had to admit, for all of his Brother's flaws, he was clearly good at this, and Harry had a distinct impression that this duel would likely not last long.

He just needed a few minutes.

"Tarantallegra!" Malfoy returned fire, causing Charlus to leap to the side. Unfortunately for Charlus and a lot more fortunately for both Harry and Malfoy, if admittedly for very different reasons, Charlus managed to slam into an ancient-looking plaque in the process. The collision off-put his balance and sent the plaque in question to the floor with a resounding CRASH!

More fortunately for Charlus, he appeared, if perhaps only in battle, a quick thinker.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The trinket in question, as well as those in the surrounding area, flew into the air before pelting themselves towards Malfoy, who dove to the side in a panic. Quickly, Malfoy found himself buried under a number of trophies, and suddenly, Harry heard what the others did not, as they were too focused on their own battles.

Quick, distant footsteps, getting closer by the second.

Without drawing his wand, Harry focused on one of the trophies behind Charlus and with a loud CLANG, it slammed hard into the boy's collarbone, sending him stumbling forwards and breaking his concentration.

Ron drew his wand and aimed it at Harry, but he merely held up his still empty hands. In the second’s pause, however, it seemed that Charlus and Ron had caught on to the oncoming footsteps.

"Let's split!" Charlus cried in a panic, regaining his footing and making for the door on the opposite side of the room. Harry cursed, wandlessly hurling several trophies into his path. He found himself tiring fast. It was extremely difficult to do this kind of magic without a wand and he could barely maintain control of the paths of the objects he was sending in the boy's path, let alone keep doing so. To the boy’s credit, there was not so much as a pause in his charge towards the door. Harry allowed Ron to follow after him on the pretence of helping Malfoy, and, as quietly as he could, took aim at their backs and whispered a single incantation twice.

"Petrificus Totalus."

Ron Weasley went rigid as a board as Harry went leaping over him. Regrettably, the spell meant for his Brother had missed, and he could no longer curse him without it being obvious. Instead, he simply marvelled at the general, if not complete success of his plan as he vaguely heard a snide voice ring out from the room that was now left far behind him.

Severus Snape's eyes sharpened as he stared down at the youngest Weasley, who was completely and utterly bound. He would have likely smirked in satisfaction had one of his snakes not too been left laying in this room, face down and appearing to be unconscious, a large, distinct lump forming upon his skull.

Snape knew all too well that there was far more at play here than what lay in front of him, but he could hardly prove it. Draco would not have wasted his time on a Weasley, but perhaps, a close acquaintance. Snape could have cursed aloud at the missed opportunity that had been the probable incrimination of Charlus Potter, but he did not. As a matter of fact, his face stayed completely impassive, even as he thought he was piecing the situation together rather well.

If Draco had come to duel Potter, and evidently Weasley had shown as well, they must have agreed on seconds. Draco had trusted the wrong second, as whoever it had been, they had seemingly fled at the first sign of danger at the latest. Snape wondered whom he had used. He would have assumed Nott, or perhaps if Draco was more inept than Snape thought him, Crabbe or Goyle. Now, he knew that Draco had elected for none of those options. None of those three would have likely dared betray him.

Who would Draco bring to a duel with the Boy-Who-Lived that might betray him?

A seemingly impossible, but oh so plausible thought crossed Severus Snape's mind and though Weasley mercifully did not see it from his spot on the floor, his eyes actually did widen, if only for a second. Somebody whom Malfoy would have brought to spite the Potter brat, who also would have had motivations to leave that letter underneath his office door. Somebody who clearly wasn’t on great terms with either side.

Snape just shook his head, hardly daring to believe the thought that, a month ago, would have been akin to the implosion of reality in terms of likelihood in his own mind.

It appeared to Severus Snape as though his own preconceptions have betrayed him.

**_Later, in the Gryffindor dorms..._ **

It was a long time before a pale, exhausted, shocked and shaky Charlus Potter was able to muster up the brainpower or the courage to pen out the letter that now sat completed in front of him. He stared down at it, hardly believing the contents himself. As he read it over one final time, he felt an odd tremor run up his spine.

He very much doubted that his nightmares were pertain to the death of his mother tonight.

_Dad,  
I know I should have never been there and how I got there really isn't important, but I stumbled into that corridor I told you about today while running from Filch, or Snape, or someone — I'm not really sure who._

_Anyway, what the hell is going on?_

_What the hell is Professor Dumbledore playing at keeping that three-headed-dog in the school, and what is he hiding under that trap door? I know you talk a lot with him, and I promise, I won't tell anyone, but I'm seriously freaking out right now and feel like my head is going to explode!_

_I mean, even I can tell that this seems like a terrible idea!_

_Write back soon,  
Charlu_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next, the inevitable backlash of a hastily constructed plan that did not quite go off without a hitch, and an impromptu lesson in the intricacies of magic from our favourite Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised on September 17th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	9. Skirmishes, Secrets and Schemes Part II.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
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_**September 13th, 1991  
Potter Manor  
8:34 AM** _

"So," said Peter as he and James sipped their morning teas, sitting on the balcony that overlooked the long, sweeping fields at the back of the manor, "I assume they've been running you into the ground since the break-in too? Judging by the fact we've barely spoken in the last month and a half."

"Yup," said James through a sigh as he leant back, stretching his arms luxuriously and looking completely at ease. At that moment, Peter was reminded almost painfully of days spent out at the lake with James, Remus and Sirius at Hogwarts.

'Simpler days,' he thought, fighting down the impulse to allow a rather sad variant of a smile from creeping onto his face.

"It seems like it's quieting down on my end," Peter informed James, more than a little bit thankful for the fact.

James nodded. "Not quite for me yet, but I think it's heading in that direction. If it were anyone other than Moody running the Aurors, we'd have given up two weeks ago."

"I see we're of one mind then."

"Depends," James drawled with a roll of his eyes, "if your mind is screaming that this is all useless and that if we would have found whoever broke in, we'd have done it weeks ago, then yup, sounds like it."

Peter smirked. "How long do you think old Mad-Eye will hang onto that job anyway?"

"Hard to say, really. He could retire any time he wanted at this point. He's made more than enough galleons to set him up for his life between his salary, his pension, and his bonuses from the war." James shook his head. "Merlin only knows when he'll finally call it quits. The old dog is a nutter. Brilliant, mind you, but completely off his rocker."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that if I were you," Peter chided James lightly. "Whatever you say about Moody, he's a true Slytherin." Peter's lips twitched. "Well, actually, he's the most exaggerated version of a Slytherin you can find in terms of paranoia, but you get my point."

"You think it's an act?" James asked, having never considered the fact.

"Oh no, definitely not an act, but probably exaggerated a bit. I have no doubt he really is more paranoid than any other wizard alive; he would have to be to put some of those Death Eaters in Azkaban. All I'm saying is that if everybody thinks old Moody is out to lunch, it'll only make things easier for him if anyone gives him trouble." he shrugged. "Just food for thought."

In most cases, James would have said that such a thing, putting on an act of madness to take your opponents off guard, seemed way too paranoid and over the top. But when he really thought about it, that actually sounded exactly like the kind of thing Mad-Eye would come up with.

As James was thinking this, he spotted the family's eagle owl, Hermes, flying towards them on the open balcony. James moved his cup of tea to the side, allowing the owl room to land and stick out his leg. James waved his wand, causing a few owl treats to appear before smoothly taking the letter from its leg and making to read it. At that moment, James Potter was immensely relieved that he did not have any scolding liquids in his mouth as his eyes widened and his jaw fell open.

"Oh, for fuck’s sake," James muttered, pressing his hands to his temples in a show of great annoyance and frustration.

"What is it?" Peter asked cautiously, knowing that such a reaction from James could have realistically been elicited by any number of things.

"Charlus," James sighed, suddenly looking about ten years older than he really was. "I figured the tike would get himself into a fair bit of trouble, but seriously, his dumb luck and mischievous streak have already topped everything we did at Hogwarts in terms of danger." Upon seeing Peter's sceptical look, James smiled abashedly despite himself, lost in nostalgia. "Ok, ok, maybe except anything involving Snivelus, I guess."

"Surely it can't be that bad?" Peter asked a bit nervously. James just scowled, handing over the letter and allowing Peter to read it quickly before his jaw too nearly fell open. "A Cerberus? How on earth did that boy end up in a room with that beast? A better question, what the hell is a Cerberus doing at Hogwarts in the first place?" James winced. "Classified information?" asked Peter, assuming James was under oath.

"Not exactly," James admitted. "It's not Ministry business, at least not technically, but I can't tell you any more than that."

So, he was under an oath. James had never really kept anything from Peter before, so he had no reason to believe that he would do so now.

"Noted," Peter said neutrally, mentally connecting the dots in his mind. Whatever had been the desired prize of the would-be Gringotts robbers had been in James's family vault at the time, though of course, that information had not, and would not be made public. If James knew about something valuable hidden at Hogwarts, something that was not strictly ministry business…

'I wonder...'

_**September 13th, 1991  
The Hospital Wing  
9:41 AM** _

Draco's livid and border-line murderous mood had been mildly improved when the school's matron had mercifully allowed him an escape from the hospital wing. That mood, however, remained improved for all of five seconds before, upon his exit, he saw the cloaked form of his Head of House waiting for him.

"Professor?" Draco asked with a lot less politeness than he would have twenty-four hours earlier. In his mind, the fact that Snape had blabbed about his involvement in the trophy room to the Headmaster, or at least, the man himself had said he would be doing so, was akin to high treason in Draco's moral code.

"Mind your tone, Draco," Snape said in a low, dangerous voice. If it had been anybody but a Slytherin, and a prominent one at that, Snape likely would have put them through the metaphorical ringer for such a disrespectful tone. Draco got off lightly, though Snape's voice spoke a warning obvious enough for even the most bold-headed of Gryffindors to pick up on.

That was your one warning.

"Come," said Snape, whirling on the spot and sweeping away from Draco, leaving him to follow moodily after the Potions Master.

"Where are you taking me?" he demanded in a slightly more polite, though obviously still annoyed tone, "Sir," he added hastily.

"The Headmaster has interrogated Weasley and wishes to speak to you," Snape answered shortly. "I take it that I do not need to explain to you the level of foolishness you have displayed in finding yourself in this position?"

"It wasn't my fault! It's all Potter's fault!"

Snape's lip curled. "I think you will have a hard time convincing the Headmaster of that fact."

"But you believe me, professor?"

"My belief is not important nor relevant to the situation at hand. Listen to me, Draco. I do not think you understand the severity of what has happened! The Headmaster very rarely hosts personal audiences. Even less so in the case of those regarding disciplinary action."

His grey eyes widened in sudden terror. "He-he can't expel me, can he?" 

Snape did not answer at once, choosing instead to silently ponder for a few long moments. "I suspect that will depend on events that I have not been made privy to," he answered carefully. "You have broken a number of school rules and were caught irrevocably red-handed. The Headmaster is usually rather lenient, but if he has pieced together as much as I suspect," Snape paused, seeming to be deciding on how best to say something, "I dare say that Ronald Weasley's part in the night's events will be... negligible."

Before Draco could entirely piece together what that meant, Professor Snape stopped in front of a rather handsome, rather old looking gargoyle statue: its majesty was promptly ruined to Draco when his head of house drawled in a rather exasperated sounding voice. "Lemon sherbert."

Malfoy quickly made his way up the moving, spiral staircase after his Head of House. Before Snape could so much as knock, Draco heard a soft, calm voice call them inside from behind the door. Snape, with the briefest, closest to imperceptible sneer one would imagine, pushed the door open.

Draco had been nervous before now, a feeling that had only been exacerbated when his Head of House had spoken, implicitly, granted, about expulsion. But now, when he saw that the room was not occupied by only the Headmaster, fear swelled drastically within him. This was because his eyes widened upon a man whom he feared more than he did Albus Dumbledore.

"Father?"

_**At the same moment, in the Transfiguration classroom...** _

Ron sidled into their first period Transfiguration with less than forty minutes remaining in the lesson itself. When he moved towards the desk where Charlus was seated, he noticed the other boy's deep, hazel eyes focus upon him intently.

"How’d it go?" Charlus asked immediately, prompting Ron to sigh in resignation.

"A week of detention with Filch and thirty points," he grumbled.

Charlus winced. "That's harsh."

Ron shrugged. "Could've been worse." He smiled rather viciously in a way that was very out of character for him. "Malfoy might not have it as easy."

Charlus smiled briefly but immediately became more serious. "What about Harry?"

Ron rolled his eyes, doing his best to hide his annoyance with his best friend. "No, I didn't tell Dumbledore that he was with Malfoy. Why you care what happens to the git, I don't know. He picked Malfoy over you, for Merlin's sake!"

Charlus did not speak for several seconds. "I told you why last night." He settled on. "And… I don't know… I think there was more going on with him and Malfoy than we realized, to be honest."

_**The night previous, in the Hospital Wing...** _

Ron had been jump-scared rather badly when he was forcibly shaken awake in the middle of the night by his best mate. If that had not been enough, he learned that, not only did said best mate know an uber-powerful privacy spell, but he had an invisibility cloak — a real invisibility cloak. He hadn’t expected his shock at such a revelation to be rivalled for some time, but he was proven wrong just minutes later when Charlus made his true intent for sneaking into the hospital wing known.

"Listen, Ron. If you get interrogated tomorrow, whether it's Snape, or McGonagall, or even Dumbledore, I need you to promise me something, ok?"

Ron frowned. "You don't need to worry." he dismissed. "I'm obviously not gonna rat you out."

"I wasn't talking about that, Ron, but yeah, thanks."

Ron blinked. "What then?"

Charlus leaned forward. "I wasn't the only one to get away with it, you know. I need you to promise not to tell anyone that Harry was there."

Ron's jaw fell agape. "No way am I helping that git!" 

"Ron," Charlus said tiredly, "he's my Brother. You should know what that feels like."

Ron scowled. "Yeah, but my brothers wouldn't have backed up Malfoy against me."

Charlus paused, seeming to ponder something before slowly, hesitantly, he spoke. "I don't think he really backed Malfoy." Ron looked aghast, but Charlus continued. "No, seriously, think about it! He told us that we got to pick the time and place. If he hadn't, Malfoy could have led us into a trap or something. He could have easily hexed me from behind when we were duelling, but he didn't."

Ron sat silent for several minutes before speaking again. "Even if that's true, which I don't think it is, why do you care? He was there; he should get in trouble!"

Charlus sighed. "I know," he admitted. "But… well… it's complicated. But I just want us to be a family. Come on, mate, surely you can at least understand that?"

Privately, Charlus thought that if his father knew that Harry had seconded Malfoy in their duel, that rift would be torn forever, but he did not tell Ron this. He didn't lie though; he really did just want a family.

Ron sighed in annoyance but looked pointedly back at Charlus. "Fine," he conceded, "fine, okay, I'll keep Harry's name out of it. But you owe me for this one."

_**In the present, back in the Headmaster’s office...** _

"Draco," Lucius returned in a voice that carried no trace of emotion. It was nearly impossible for Draco to read his father's mood at the best of times, but at present, it was completely out of the question.

"Good morning, Master Malfoy," said the other man in the room. Without even looking over, Draco recognized the man's voice as the same that had admitted him and his Head of House. Draco nodded to Dumbledore in acknowledgement as the man peered over his interwoven fingers towards Snape. "Thank you for bringing Mister Malfoy to us, Severus. You may go."

Snape nodded sharply, turning on his heel and making his prompt exit from the room, leaving Draco alone with the leaders of the Liberals and the Conservatives, respectively.

Draco could not help but note that on any other occasion, this would likely be a spectacle the likes of which he would enjoy watching. Unfortunately, his magical education hung in the balance during said meeting, so he had a feeling it would be far less amusing.

"First and foremost," Dumbledore asked, "how are you feeling this morning, Master Malfoy? I gathered from the documentation of last night's little adventure that you had suffered quite a nasty concussion."

"I’m fine," Draco answered shortly. If he were going to be expelled, he would not give the old man the satisfaction of rendering him to a stuttering mess.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "I’m glad," he said genuinely before, all at once, his face hardened. Draco braced himself for whatever might come next. "Now, to business." He leaned forward slightly, not unlinking his fingers as he gazed towards him. Draco had enough sense to heed his father's warnings from before the year began to not meet Dumbledore's or Snape's eyes, even though the man had never explained why.

"Last night, Master Malfoy, you were caught out of your dorms duelling Ronald Weasley of Gryffindor. Do you deny that this duel took place?" Draco hesitated but shook his head. He knew all too well that a check of his wand from a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore would essentially prove the fact.

"Master Malfoy, I do not think I need to inform you of how far out of line these actions are."

"Are you going to expel me then?" Draco asked, half scared, half defiant. Lucius shot him a sharp glance that clearly screamed: "keep your mouth shut".

Dumbledore simply appraised him. "For duelling out of bounds? No, I am not. On any other occasion, such an offence, though very wrong for certain, would not have landed you in front of me as you are now." He sighed. "The problem, Master Malfoy, is not so much the duel itself, as it is the collateral damage that it caused.

"You see, the problem is the room which you chose as your arena for the duel. That room is, as I am sure you are acutely aware, full of trinkets that have withstood the test of time. Some of these trophies are far beyond relics, remarkable as said relics may be. They are a treasured part of our school’s history and thus extremely valuable.

"Upon interviewing Master Weasley, I learned that he, at the very least, was not at all responsible for the destruction of the trophies and plaques that were lost last night."

"I didn't!" Draco argued, wide-eyed. "I never broke any of those trophies!"

"Oh?"

Draco hesitated. He could sell out Potter, but something instinctively told him that such a thing was a dangerous course of action.

Lucius jumped on his hesitation.

"If you would be so kind, Headmaster, I think it prudent that I speak with my son. I would not want him making any… damaging decisions in the long term without fully understanding the severity of the situation."

Dumbledore smiled, but Draco could tell it was strained. "Of course, Lucius. It is your right as his Father, after all, and the precise reason you were called in for this occasion." Lucius nodded sharply, took hold of Draco's arm, dragged him to his feet and walked him out the door and down the spiral staircase. He paused just short of stepping back into the corridor. He withdrew his wand, gave it a quick twitch. As he stowed it away once more, he turning back to his son and heir.

"We shall not be overheard," he said with some satisfaction. "Now, without the needless detail, who was in the trophy room with you last night?"

"Weasley and the Potter twins," 

"Ah, yes, the Boy-Who-Lived and the enigma that is his brother, of course. Well then, I suppose the question should be why you allowed yourself to be cornered into a situation where you were outnumbered three to one?"

"I didn't. Harry Potter was my second. I did it to annoy the other Potter, but it backfired. I wasn't going to show up. I was just going to say it was at midnight and no-show, but Harry Potter mocked Weasley and ended up subtly telling him that as the challenged party, it was their right to pick the time and place."

Lucius's face did not change. "How… interesting," he observed. "Well, that simply will not do," he muttered. "Dumbledore will find a way to get his golden boy out of the line of fire, and I suspect that the same would be true for his brother." Lucius thought for a minute. "Tell me, who else does the youngest Weasley boy spend his time with?"

Malfoy shrugged. "There's a Finnigan boy."

"That will suffice for Weasley's second," Lucius decided, a glint in his eye as he leaned forwards. "Now tell me, who are all of your year’s housemates, Draco?"

"Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle, Greengrass, Nott, Moon, Zabini, Potter and Davis."

"Davis?" Lucius asked with narrowed eyes. "How very peculiar. I do not recognize the surname, Davis. Tell me, Draco, why would you ever use an unnamed mudblood as your second?"

Draco looked incredulous for a second before, slowly, a wicked grin spread across his face as he realized what his father was planning.

'A friend of Potter's, too. How perfect.'

_**About an hour later, in the Slytherin common room...** _

Harry had been mildly baffled when Tracey had been pulled out of the common room by Snape that morning. At the time, both him and Daphne had shrugged it off, but when the girl did not return after ten or so minutes, an irrational feeling of dread settled upon them.

This feeling of dread welled into an outright panic just as Harry and Daphne were making to leave for Defence. The common room entrance slid open, and Tracey sprinted through the room, off to the left down the passage to the dorms and out of sight. There were obvious tears streaming down her cheeks. Without hesitation, Daphne got up to follow her. For his part, Harry made to stand too, but Daphne shot him a look that clearly suggested it was better if he didn’t join her. Five minutes later, Daphne returned looking positively sick and livid, two emotions that would never have slipped through her mask on normal occasions.

"What happened?" Harry asked at once, casting the Muffliato charm a second after speaking.

"What happened is that Tracey has detention every Saturday and Sunday until the Christmas break with Filch, and she just lost us fifty points for something she didn't do!"

Harry paled as he quickly scanned the room, making sure nobody was coming within range of the boundary of his privacy spell. As he looked, one face stood out, one that had not been there when he himself had returned from the trophy room the night before. Malfoy's face was, for the most part, blank. What gave him away was the glint in his eyes, one that he failed to mask. Harry could see the internal smirk.

That was when it clicked.

"I'll kill him!" he hissed, moving to flick his wand into his holster. Before he could, Daphne's hand closed around his wrist in a vice-like grip. He tried to pull free, but her grip strength was shocking. He supposed that was what one got when they handled Potions tools and ingredients often for years. "Daphne," he snarled, his eyes glowing with ethereal green light, "Let. Me. Go!"

"No!" she hissed back, shifting her position so she could look him in the eye. "Harry, you have to calm down. You can't openly attack Malfoy in the common room in front of everybody!"

"Watch me." 

When looking back upon this memory in the future, Harry would be eternally grateful for both the grip strength Daphne had developed from brewing potions since the age of seven as well as her incomprehensible mental restraint. That was something he wouldn’t come to understand until months later.

"Harry, I need you to breathe. Think about everything that would go wrong if you attacked Malfoy right now. Trust me, we will get him, both of us. Just not now, not here." Harry hesitated, not quite able to conquer his anger but also not quite able to curb his rationality. Daphne took that hesitation to sling both of their bags over her shoulder and drag Harry out of the room.

Harry likely would have made a mad dash back to the common room if not for Daphne's firm, insistent grip upon his wrist. It was not until they reached the corridor leading to their next lesson, Defence Against the Dark Arts, that he gained enough self-control to confidently assure Daphne that he would not do anything stupid during defence.

Despite it being his favourite subject, Harry spent most of the lecture spaced out, positively boiling with fury and plotting all the horrible ways in which he could strike back against Malfoy. There was another feeling too, one that Harry was not familiar enough with to identify, but what he would later learn was guilt.

It had been his plan that backfired.

It had seemed like such a good plan. Malfoy had been throwing subtle jabs his way since the beginning of term and it was rather obvious that he had a place with some of the older students. Hell, the first night, after the sorting, he had even tried to cripple any political foundation Harry might build by implying his relative unimportance. 

With that in mind, Harry was sure that sooner or later, Draco would try to make a power play to establish himself at the top of the first year pecking order. Harry simply could not let that happen. 

For one thing, if he had to put up with Draco making blunt remarks about Tracey's blood status while the entire year supported him, he would likely become a murderer at the age of eleven. For another, Malfoy seriously rubbed him the wrong way. He was not Slytherin enough to lead a year. It was as if he had taken all the stereotypical traits associated with Slytherin house and turned them all up to eleven whilst forgetting what truly defined the house of cunning and ambition. Paranoid as it might be, Harry had the distinct impression that if Malfoy seized control of the first year hierarchy, it would not be pleasant for Harry within Slytherin. Being the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived seemed enough for Malfoy to hate him on principle. 

If it were just Malfoy, Harry wouldn’t have worried. He could trounce the boy with an arm tied behind his back. With that being said, his older associates were problematic.

So, it had seemed rather easy. Malfoy had presented Harry with a perfect opportunity to cripple his political aspirations within Slytherin House. If he set Malfoy up as the idiot who had lost fifty points or more over a Weasley and hopefully got a bit banged up in the process, then much of the house, hopefully including his older associates, would lose respect for him. Unfortunately, now Harry knew that Malfoy's part in the duel, though not swept under the rug, per se, would be forgotten within Slytherin house. It would be an afterthought after "the mudblood that had lost them fifty points during her second week of Hogwarts".

It was infuriating.

"...Now," snapped Professor Hurst, "almost all of you have shown some proficiency with the Aegis Vocar shield by this point. You will now be divided into partners and take turns casting spells at one another while the other uses their shield to absorb the spell. Only easily reversed jinxes are to be used. For those of you who have not demonstrated competency with the shield, you will be working on your own to master it.

"Now, Miss Greengrass with Miss Parkinson and Miss Moon. My apologies for the uneven grouping, but based on your numbers, it was inevitable. Master Zabini with Master Malfoy. Masters Crabbe and Goyle and Miss Bulstrode, work on your own to surmount the spell, and Master Potter..." When she turned to look at Harry, she paused for the shortest of moments. It was brief enough that in his distracted state, Harry didn’t even catch it. "You will be partnering with Master Nott."

Harry got to his feet as his heart rate sped up. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears as Theodore Nott stood across from him.

One of Malfoy's friends.

Nott sneered arrogantly and hatefully at Harry, who returned the gesture with fervour. He didn’t know Nott, but from what he had gathered, the boy was a bigoted idiot. Harry thought him the perfect outlet for his anger.

"Miss Greengrass, Master Zabini, and Master Nott, you will be shielding first." Nott looked most unpleased with that arrangement, but he obediently held his wand in a defensive position as he prepared to cast, a rather cruel glint still in his eye.

'Oh, you have no idea what is about to happen.'

In retrospect, neither did Harry.

"You will begin on three, two, one!"

"Aegis Vocar!" cried Nott.

Harry raised his wand and Nott, if not for his own admirable self-control would have flinched. Harry's eyes were glowing once more. It was not obvious, but if one was looking, they could see the increase in that pale, emerald light behind his eyes. As Harry's wand came up and aimed at Nott, the air around him seemed to crackle as Harry thought he felt the pressure in his ears change an instant before he released his spell.

"Furnunculus!"

The jet of red light positively whistled from Harry's wand and closed the distance between him and Nott with unnatural speed, causing the air around it to crackle. Nott's eyes widened a moment before the spell, (which should have been easily deflected by an attempt far weaker than Nott's) ripped straight through his shield and struck him full in the chest. The spell sent him sprawling to the floor as he yelled out in pain.

Through his haze of anger, Harry had enough cognitive thought left to realize that the boil hex was not supposed to send its victim sprawling.

Instead of simply creating a boil on the point of impact, the spell seemed to have a larger effect. Boils were popping up all over Nott's body, all spreading outwards from the original point of impact. He was positively screaming in pain. The boy tried the counter curse twice, but nothing happened. Meanwhile, Harry was too busy seeing red to do much of anything, but before he could raise his wand again, another voice cut through his haze.

"Finite Incantatem!"

It was one of the first times Harry had ever heard Professor Hurst speak aloud when casting magic, and her voice was strong and loud. The air around Theodore seemed to cool as he stopped his screaming, resorting to quiet moans as he buried his face into the floor, doing an admittedly stellar job of hiding his tears.

"Cease your actions at once!" Professor Hurst called out needlessly. The class had all frozen and stared wide-eyed at Theodore on the floor. She glanced briefly at Harry before looking towards Malfoy and Zabini. "Master Malfoy, take Master Nott to the hospital wing at once. The rest of you, minus Master Potter, are excused. Go!"

Harry had never heard his professor speak in such a harsh voice before, but its effect was instantaneous on the rest of the class. When all had left but the two of them, she fired a spell off towards the door. It was of pure black energy which caused an odd distortion in the air after slamming into the aforementioned exit. A sort of hazy blue barrier seemed to take form on their side, but Harry couldn’t even muster the thought to be curious. Then, she whirled on Harry, and he had just enough brainpower to realize what she was about to do. He raised his own wand at once.

"Dolor!"

Much like his hex had moments earlier, hers travelled unnaturally fast. Unlike Nott's shield, Harry's hastily conjured Aegis Vocar held, if barely.

He snarled, side-stepping and turning his wand on his professor. Normally, Harry would never dream of doing something so incredibly bold and idiotic, but for one thing, he was not thinking in his usual frame of mind. Another thing, she had just tried to curse him, so a claim of self-defence would more than hold up in a court of law.

"Furnunculus!"

She didn’t bother with a shield, she simply flicked her wand, sending Harry's grossly overpowered boil hex rocketing away from the both of them.

"Come now, Potter. I am not an eleven-year-old pureblood brat. You will have to do better."

"Mobiliarbus, Flipendo, Petrificus Totalus!"

"Better," she drawled as she easily and infuriatingly knocked all of Harry's spells aside with no effort. "Merely disappointing, no longer pathetic."

Harry snarled and launched spell after spell at her. His casting was rather repetitive since his arsenal was quite limited, but he didn’t care. He simply threw everything at her, egged on by her mocking as he went. This went on for what, to Harry, felt like no time at all, but what was really nearly ten minutes. Finally, as his attempt at a full-body bind sparked out. Harry fell to his knees, allowing his wand to clatter to the floor as he sagged with exhaustion.

He breathed heavily, noticing the sounds of footsteps coming closer. He looked up through eyes that barely stayed open and saw, to his confusion, Professor Hurst offering him a hand up. Cautiously, he took it and was pulled to his feet.

"Now that you have performed all the venting you could have possibly yearned for," she said, dropping her mocking charade at once, "do you care to tell me why you were so irrationally furious that you, my best first year defence student, failed to control a simple boil hex?"

He didn’t feel like he had the energy to speak, but after literally using all of his pent up emotion in every spell, Harry could honestly say that he could think clearly once more. He was still livid, but he was also ashamed of his lack of self-control.

"I… don't think I can, Professor. There are things involved that I would rather the staff not know about."

The professor appraised him for several long moments before nodding. "Very well, Master Potter. In the future, you will exhibit better self-control."

"Yes ma'am," said a legitimately ashamed Harry. "I'm sorry, ma'am." He paused. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"What happened when I cast Furnunculus at Nott? I've never heard of that happening before."

There was a moment where they were silent, and Harry was certain that the professor would not answer him. That only lasted a couple of seconds, as with a calculating look in place, Professor Hurst answered with a question of her own.

"Tell me, how did you feel when you cast the spell towards Master Nott and what, in vague terms, were you thinking about while casting?"

"I was furious," he admitted quietly. "I was thinking of the reason why I was furious."

"Is this what you think of when you cast hexes such as the boil hex in most circumstances?"

"No."

"What is it that you normally keep in mind?"

"The desired intent of the spell."

"Ah, and there it is — intent." She looked vaguely disappointed. "I see you have not yet taken up my reading recommendation. You will have a summary of the first chapter on my desk by Monday as punishment for your outburst." She sighed. "But before you ask, yes, I shall explain.

"Keeping with the example of Furnunculus, when you cast the hex on a normal occasion, your mind is focused solely on the intent you desire, that being for the spell to take on its rudimentary form. This state of concentration is possible because, when casting, you are focusing on the intent and not your emotions, which leads to the latter being unable to warp the former. Today, however, in your rage, you allowed your thoughts to be consumed with anger. There is something that is never taught to you at Hogwarts, and why this is so I shall never understand but here it is.

"Magic is extremely complex and even sentient. It is not simply a matter of waving one's wand and muttering words. The reason that intent is so important in regards to magic is that the magic needs a catalyst, something to allow it to take form. It does this through your intent. But as you found out today, intent is a rather vague word that can be interpreted in a number of different ways. With your lack of self-control today, as well as no true visualization, the magic simply manifested by using your anger as its catalyst. Revenge is intent, and though such intent would lead to utter failure in transfiguration when dealing with a hex or a curse, it can have rather drastic effects."

Harry nodded. It all made sense to him, even though it all sounded ridiculously complicated. "Professor," he asked carefully, "If I wanted to overpower spells like Furnunculus in a duel, could I focus on bad memories or strong, negative emotions? Would that actually work?”

For the first time during their conversation, the professor allowed a small smile to grace her lips. "That is the student I have come to know, Master Potter. See that it is the student who attends my class from here on out. The short answer is yes, but it is not that simple. For one, focusing on anger or negative emotions when casting, especially if one's mind is unorganized and free of control can cause their magic to become quite volatile, as you saw today. Casting off of sheer emotion is also more magically draining than to cast off of a more guided form of intent."

"Is there a better way of doing it, then?"

"Intent, Master Potter. Magic is not fuelled by wand movements or even incantations, but intent. A master of magic, few as they are, does not need incantations. They simply wave their wand and will magic to obey them. Though few ever reach this kind of control, it is a show of intent's power. Most spells do have predetermined limits, so their effectiveness is not infinitely malleable, but there is some leeway there." She paused. "There is a categorization of magic known as esoteric magic that does utilize emotions, but I believe this branch may be beyond your level at this time."

"So more clear intent and visualisation is still the best way to manipulate magic, but emotions do work?"

"Indeed."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, Professor," he said sincerely. "I'll make sure to have the essay for you by Monday."

_**September 14, 1991  
The Great Hall  
8:06 AM** _

Harry had, as usual, woken up early and fled the common room before the sun had truly risen. Instead of sneaking off to his favourite abandoned room to practice magic as he normally would be doing, Harry decided to trek up to the library. It turned out that the librarian, Madam Pince, was already there despite the early hour. Harry seriously wondered if she just slept behind her desk. Judging by her rather strict looking countenance, he thought asking that question may not be in his best interests. When he flashed her the slip, she was beyond sceptical. After looking it over for several minutes, she reluctantly conceded. She gave him a long, dry safety talk. After said talk had been complete, she finally allowed him to enter the Restricted Section. She did make him wear earmuffs and dragon-hide gloves, which he personally thought was a bit much, but he wasn’t complaining..

It took Harry some time to find the book that the professor had recommended. The tome itself was not terribly long, though it appeared positively ancient. Harry made to leave but hesitated.

He was here. He would be foolish to not take advantage of the resource suddenly and irrationally at his disposal. 

There were so many books that piqued his interest. Harry had to unfortunately admit, they were mostly all above his current level. After some deliberation, he settled on a few safer looking ones. His selection consisted of three books. _On the Offensive: a Guide in the Basics of Striking First and Last, 50 Non-Lethal, Must Know Curses to Win a Duel and, Most Potente Potions._ The latter was likely unnecessary. He was friends with a genuine potions prodigy, after all. However, Harry disliked the idea of having to rely on Daphne. If nothing else, storing some rather… interesting potions in his memory bank probably was not a bad idea.

That thought prompted a frown. He still had those vials of Longbottom's botched potion from their first day; the one that had led to rather painful results when absorbed through the skin. Harry could dump it over Malfoy in the blond’s sleep. It would be entertaining, but he thought it more apt for a lesser offence. He would have to come up with something more… damaging, and preferably more far-reaching in retaliation for his ploy against Tracey.

By the time Harry had returned to the common room and stowed his new trophies away in his trunk, he still had some time before breakfast, so he set off to do what he had been meaning to do for almost two weeks now — explore. 

He stuck to the area nearest his common room for now. He thought it would probably be the most useful to him. As breakfast was nearing, Harry assumed he had struck out in terms of his day's expeditions. 

Then he saw it. 

He was in the dungeons, only a corridor and a bit away from his common room when he noticed. The corridor that housed all the serpentine decor, not the one far below, but the one that Harry, and seemingly all of Slytherin seemed to think was there for the sole purpose of serving as a diversion for the entrance to their common room.

'I wonder.'

He checked to make sure he was alone before he turned back to the snakes. 

**"Uh… open?"**

He had no idea why "open" came to him, but there was something… he was not sure how to describe it… nudging him? There just seemed to be a part of his mind that knew that was the right thing to say.

One of the snakes curled into the form of a handle, which quickly protruded out of the portrait. Harry's eyes widened as he took hold of the handle and opened the door. It led to an extremely dark passageway that was quite narrow. It was comfortable for one person, but he doubted he could have managed to walk side by side with anybody else. He closed the door behind him and made his way up the passageway, climbing a set of stairs when he reached them and coming up on a blank wall that appeared to be a dead end. 

Harry wasn’t fooled. 

He felt around for a moment, thinking how it would be far more convenient not to need Parseltongue on this end and promptly found a handle. This one seemed to have been there already. Harry opened it and slid out of the passage. He exited in a very small alcove underneath the marble staircase that, upon further investigation, was pretty much impossible to see from outside of it if one was not looking. Even if they were, Harry thought, spotting it would be a task. He also noticed that there was indeed an actual door handle on this side.

When he sidled into the Great Hall for breakfast, he noticed that, to his relief, Daphne had managed to coax Tracey out to breakfast.

"Morning," he greeted the two girls as he took his customary seat. "How are you feeling?" he asked Tracey.

She sighed. "Better, I guess. I mean… as Daphne put it, what is fifty points and a bunch of detentions in the long run?" Harry nodded. It was true. He knew also that her life within Slytherin House had just become a lot more interesting. Now, she was no longer just the nobody and suspected halfblood or muggleborn. She was now that, plus "that girl who cost us 50 points and was going to let the Malfoy Heir take the fall." Harry didn’t say this though. He knew, in spite of her over the top, bubbly personality, that Tracey was nothing if not intelligent. He didn’t need to point out the obvious to her.

Malfoy would pay in time, regardless.

The morning post chose that moment to make its arrival, and for the third time in the school year, Harry had some. This time, it was not the now-familiar eagle owl of the Potters. It was a dignified, pristine-looking owl. He couldn’t identify the exact species. Attached to its leg was a small, simple letter. Harry noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a small smile cross Daphne's face. He quickly deduced that, if nothing else, it probably wasn’t dangerous. Not to him, at least.

"Care to explain?" he asked, causing her to look at him in annoyance.

"Care to read?" she snarked back.

"Don't encourage him, Daphne," said Tracey, a bit of her normal self shining through her veil of gloom. "If you tell him to read any more, we'll never see him again."

Harry ignored them both, choosing instead to open and read the letter, the contents of which made his eyes widen.

_Heir Potter,  
I must admit that I am rather surprised by what I have heard of you third hand thus far. I imagine that most of the magical world shares this sentiment, but I find myself most interested in meeting you._

_The Greengrass heiress has spoken quite highly of you to my daughter via letters, and her praise is not an easy one to gain._

_With this, as well as your future political standing in mind, it is a pleasure for both myself and the rest of my family to extend to you an invitation to our Samhain event on the 31st of October, which shall start at 8:00 PM._

_Whether you accept or, if for some reason you are forced to decline the invitation, please send a response back no later than the 20th of October._

_We await your response and hope for your presence._

_Regards,_  
Sigmund Weitts  
Regent of House Weitts 

'Huh? I was not expecting that.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Well, here it is; the newest update to the ongoing schemes within Slytherin House, as well as some other important setup and background.**
> 
> **Next chapter will feature the meeting with James, as well as yet another familiar face. It will also feature Harry's first Halloween at Hogwarts.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised on September 21st, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	10. Samhain Part I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
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_**September 20, 1991  
The Third Floor  
11:13 PM** _

"Coast clear?"

"Yup, the nearest person is Snape, and he's a floor up and nowhere near a staircase."

"And the cat?"

"Sixth floor."

"Perfect, showtime!"

The Weasley twins stepped out from behind the tapestry that concealed them, peering at the locked door that led to the forbidden third floor corridor with unmasked curiosity.

"What do you reckon?" Fred asked his twin.

"Probably warded to the teeth."

"They really should've worked something into the map that would reveal wards."

George shrugged. "No idea if that's even possible, but it would have been quite magnificent, wouldn't it?"

"Quite indeed."

They crept a bit closer and paused. "I don't feel anything, at least," George muttered.

"Either means there are no wards, or the people who put them up are just way out of our league."

"I would sincerely hope that whoever put up wards is out of our league. I doubt a proximity ward tied with some stinging hexes would do a whole lot."

"Too true, brother dear."

They looked at each other, a wicked gleam mirrored in both sets of eyes.

Carefully, Fred reached into a pocket of his robes and withdrew a rather ordinary muggle tennis ball. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, rolling it forward. It bounced off of the door and didn't seem to set anything off.

"So," said George with a grin, "either there are no wards, or the people who put them up were smart enough to only queue them to humans."

"Nah," dismissed Fred with narrowed eyes, "I doubt it. That would’ve left loopholes. People could've got in those muggle picture things that dad's always going on about."

"Yeah, but I doubt any of the staff except for Burbage knows about those."

"Come off it; you know it was just the first example I could come up with. There would be other loopholes too."

"Good point."

With one last glance at one another, they seemed to hold their breaths as one as carefully, slowly, they crept up to the door.

Nothing happened.

"They're having a laugh!" Fred hissed in disbelief. "Nothing? No wards at all?"

"Maybe some seventh year broke them?"

"Nah. If there's something so dangerous here, you figure they'd make it a bit harder than that!"

"Guess we'll find out."

Slowly, they both withdrew their wands and took aim at the handle, incanting in perfect unison.

"Alohomora!"

The lock clicked.

"This has to be the best prank of all time!" Fred mused, still baffled. "I mean, if it's this easy, there's clearly nothing dangerous-" but his voice trailed off as the door opened and they caught sight of the hulking shape of a monstrous three-headed… something that was laying on a trap door.

“Fuck!”

As they relocked the door and sprinted in the opposite direction, both twins were thinking the same thing.

'What the hell are they playing at?'

_**September 23, 1991  
The Great Hall  
8:11 AM** _

_Harry,_

_Professor Dumbledore has agreed to let you out of the castle for the Hogsmeade trip on the 11th of October (told you!). You could always just ride the carriages with the other students if you fancy a dull, normal first trip into the village. Or, if you want to spice things up a little bit, you could always find the statue of the one-eyed, humpbacked witch halfway down the third floor corridor nearest the grand staircase, tap its hump, say Dissendium, and meet a friend of mine._

_Just food for thought._

_Hope your classes are going well. Charlus said Snape's as much a git as ever, and that Binns is still useless, but he hasn't really complained aside from that._

_See you soon,  
Your Father_

"This is the first time you've read one of his letters and actually looked interested," said Daphne, nodding to the owl whom she could now recognize without issue as belonging to the Potters.

He nodded. "See for yourself," he said, handing her the letter to read.

Daphne nodded slowly upon the completion of the letter before, after getting a nod of confirmation from Harry, she passed it to Tracey, who actually gasped. "It does seem interesting," Daphne admitted. "Are you going to use it?"

"I think I might go have a look before the eleventh, but if it does really just lead me straight into Hogsmeade, then of course I'm going to use it."

Whatever Harry felt about his father, and what he felt, even he wasn’t quite sure, he was not above using useful information that came from the man, nor would he ever be.

Harry had taken a sort of interest in the secret passages of the school after finding the one that led from the dungeons to underneath the grand staircase. He had, upon further speaking with the snake on the dungeon side, realized that he did not actually need to risk using Parseltongue at all. As a speaker, the snake had let him choose a new password. He had decided to go with "escape", as that was how he viewed the castle at large.

Harry had spent a fair bit of time wandering the halls of Hogwarts in an effort to find more passages like the one he had found in the dungeons. Daphne and Tracey were really not up for this practice, so Harry had mostly gone alone. He’d actually been mildly successful. 

He had found a staircase that served as a shortcut between the second and fourth floors, hidden behind a tapestry on either side. He’d also found the passageway that Grace had taken him down that first night. It was hidden behind a frozen portrait in the antechamber off the Great Hall and would slide away when tapped with a wand. From there, it too would lead down to the dungeons, though not quite as close to the common room as the first Harry had discovered. Where that one would lead Harry to about a corridor off of the common room, the other passage would take him just to the bottom of the stairs leading down into the dungeons. Still useful, nonetheless.

"Don't we get to go to the village at some point?" Tracey asked, clearly excited by the prospect.

"In our third year," Daphne answered, focusing her eyes on Harry. "You had best be careful exploring the castle. If you're not careful, some of us may catch up to you in class."

Harry smirked. "Ah, Daphne, I hate to break it to you, but the only person you’re convincing of that fact is yourself."

For all the time that Harry had spent wandering the castle in the last week and a half, he had spent double that amount of time practising. He’d read the book that Professor Hurst had recommended cover to cover, and he had to say, he agreed with its principles. There is no such thing as light and dark, or good and evil, had been the book's thesis. Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded. Harry had agreed very much with the book's points, and its breakdowns on the actual value of intent in terms of magical theory had been an absolute game-changer.

After reading that book, Harry had broken into his book on non-lethal spells to win a duel. Many of them were definitely above his current level, but that did not mean he hadn’t read ahead a bit. He had, with the help of a surprisingly willing Daphne and Tracey, practised some of the more harmless spells he knew, though most of them had not come from that particular tome. 

He’d learned, through using the spells on them in exchange for returning the favour, that he had easily mastered the disarming charm, the leg locker, the full-body-bind and the bat-bogey hex. Tracey had some problems with these spells, but she could manage some of the very minor jinxes. She was decent at Charms, though her strengths were in the theory. Daphne had managed the leg-locker, bat-bogey hex, and several other more minor spells like the dancing jinx, but the other higher-level spells still evaded her for now.

Harry had set his sights on the Protego shield. It wasn’t usually taught until the fifth year, but Harry knew that it would be unbelievably useful. If he could master it, he could probably master many of the spells in the book.

He had also kept up with his work for his lessons just fine and continued to work ahead. Now, he could comfortably say that he could complete the first year curriculum in Transfiguration, and he was not far off in Charms either, though he had yet to attempt either of the tasks that would be asked for in exams. Speaking of which, Harry really needed to figure out what the teachers actually had them do for the exams.

At first, Daphne had been skeptical of his habits. She had seemed to think he was punishing himself in some sort of way by spending so much time practising. She had come to realize since then that Harry was genuinely just obsessed with magic.

Harry had needed to fight down the impulse to curse Malfoy several times. Leaving him in a full-body-bind was sorely tempting, but he knew there were far better ways of doing it. A vague plan had already formed in his mind as to how to get back at Malfoy, but he would have to do a lot more research before he was even remotely comfortable with, or capable of trying it.

He’d told Daphne that he intended to get back at Malfoy, tried to include her even, but she simply encouraged him. According to her, she would get her own vengeance in due time. It was only a shame that Tracey couldn’t, or she would be vilified by the rest of Slytherin House. Under normal circumstances, Harry, a halfblood, would be too if it was found out he was going after the Malfoy heir, but his status of Heir Potter offered him a certain amount of protection. Not as much as he would have liked, since much of the house did not view his family in the most positive of lights. His friendship with the heiress of a Founding Twelve family actually granted him just as much, if not more protection, he thought, but that would not extend to Tracey if she went after revenge. Not after it had already saved her skin following the fiasco with Malfoy earlier in the year.

"Harry?" Daphne asked him, lowering her voice conspiratorially. Harry quirked an eyebrow; this was odd behaviour for her.

"Yes?" 

"Have you responded to the Weitts's invitation?"

"No, I haven’t. And yes, don’t worry, I intend to." He decided to just answer her unasked question, knowing by now how Daphne did things. "My answer will depend on how the meeting with my father goes."

Daphne nodded, understanding Harry's implications easily enough.

Harry did hope his father allowed him to go. Barring a disastrous meeting, Harry would rather, at the very least, not burn the bridge that was his father. Being the Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House had its perks. James couldn’t disown Harry unless extreme circumstances that Harry very much doubted would ever come to pass took place, but Harry could take full advantage of those perks with a much higher level of ease if he was at least on speaking terms with James. 

He wasn’t even sure if the Potters held or attended a gala of their own on Samhain. Personally, he doubted it, due to the events of 1981, but he also had no real idea either way. If James was holding or attending one, he would likely want Harry there if he allowed him to leave the castle at all.

Even if he didn’t, Harry was not quite sure how he would react to his heir attending the Weitts's gathering. They were not under the Conservative banner like most of Voldemort's former supporters, but a large number of those supporters would certainly be in attendance. Harry wasn’t sure if his father would react kindly to that. He had, after all, made a rather horrible attempt at a subtle remark about staying away from the children of Death Eaters in his first letter.

Harry certainly hoped to get out to the gathering. It was a networking dream and though he was a bit nervous at the prospect of meeting so many new people, a phenomenon that he was still rather unaccustomed to, he thought it would be a fantastic opportunity. Plus, it would serve as the perfect arena for his end game to unfold in.

_**October 11, 1991  
The Third Floor  
5:40 PM** _

Lessons were out for the day, which meant that students above the third year had been granted access to Hogsmeade. As many of them crowded into the magically enchanted carriages, a small, sharp-eyed first year crept down the third-floor corridor closest to the grand, marble staircase and approached a humpbacked statue of a one-eyed witch that was often passed by.

He had done some reconnaissance already about a week earlier. The passage was certainly legitimate and seemed to lead directly into a cellar that Harry assumed belonged to a building somewhere in the village. Which building, he didn’t know, nor was he daring enough to try and find out, but he had found out what he’d wanted.

As he approached the statue in question, he glanced around quickly, making sure that he was not being followed before swiftly, he tapped his wand on the hump of the statue.

"Dissendium."

The hump slid aside, revealing the passageway underneath it. With a final glance to the corridorl, Harry quickly slipped down into the passage, only vaguely aware of it closing behind him. Once he was down in the passage itself, it took his eyes a second to adjust to the dim light, though not as long as they probably should have taken. Privately, he thought that the ritual in Knockturn Alley may have done more than merely fixed his eyes, though he could not be completely sure. When they did adjust, however, he realized that, jase as James had hinted would be the case in the letter he had received, Harry was not alone.

Standing a bit in front of him, watching him with naturally wide, watery blue eyes was a man whom Harry had never seen before. He was certainly on the shorter side, maybe 5'6″ or 5'7″, but he had a healthy build. He looked as if he had used to carry a lot of excess weight that he had since shed. Harry would not go as far as to say the man looked athletic, but he was certainly lean.

There was a split second of recognition in the man's eyes before he smiled a wide, easy smile. "Harry!" the man greeted him. He stepped forward, perhaps to clasp him on the shoulder but paused, seeming to think better of the idea, choosing instead to hold out his hand to Harry's mild relief. "If, of course, you have no problems with being called by your first name?"

Harry plastered an easy smile onto his face, artificial as it may have been. If this was a friend of his father's, there was only one acceptable answer to give as he reached out and took the man's hand. "Of course, I don't mind, sir. You're a friend of my father, I assume?"

The man smiled at him again, shaking his hand jovially. "The very best of friends, as a matter of fact. Peter's the name — Peter Pettigrew. None of this sir business, though. Call me Peter, since I imagine Uncle Pete would be a stretch for now."

Harry nodded. This man was not what he had expected. He seemed quite perceptive and rather realistic as to his situation and standing in regards to Harry. If only he had rubbed off a bit on Charlus.

"It's nice to meet you, Peter," Harry said with his trademarked smile.

Peter beamed. "Oh, Harry, trust me; the pleasure is all mine."

"My Father wanted you to meet me here?"

"He did. I admit, I wasn't as sure as he seemed to be that you would choose this route, but I'm pleased you did. The castle holds many secrets. It's an advantage to know as many of them as possible." He smirked. "One that me, your father, and our friends happily abused during our school days."

"You've known each other a long time then?" Harry asked, miming interest as he and Pettigrew made the walk through the tunnel. There were a few rodents scuttling around, but neither wizard paid them any mind.

"Long before you or your brother were even a thought. We met on the train on our first day at Hogwarts." he sighed. "I admit, I was not in the best place at that time, and your father, well… I'm sure you can imagine the respect he commanded as the Potter heir. He took me in as if I were family." Peter smiled a rather nostalgic smile. "It was much more pleasant being with James as opposed to being against him."

Harry frowned at that. For the first time, Pettigrew had caught his interest, and he did not need to fake curiosity when he asked his next question. "What do you mean by that?"

Peter's face scrunched for a moment as if he regretted saying that last bit. Then, he shrugged a bit sheepishly. It was well done, but something about it all didn't quite seem genuine. "James — in his school years, of course, was a bit… overzealous in dealing with those whom he didn't like much." Peter looked pointedly at Harry. "Ask Professor Snape. He could probably tell you better than anybody."

Was that why Snape held a grudge against Harry? The results of some playground drama from decades past? If that was the case, his Head of House was more petty than Harry had thought.

"So, he was a bully, then?"

Peter winced. "I don't know if I would go that far." he defended quickly. "James was — immature, I suppose." Peter smiled. "Still is, sometimes. I guess we all have our moments." He let out an easy laugh, and Harry rewarded the man's efforts with an equally easy smile. There was something about Pettigrew. Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but the man unnerved him. In fairness, Harry didn’t exactly trust adults in general, so that could have played a factor too.

Harry and Peter entered the same cellar that Harry had a while back. 

Pettigrew grinned at him. "Any guesses? Or have you gone exploring already?"

Harry shook his head. "I might have done if I had a way of not getting caught." He thought for a moment before hazarding a vague guess. "Somewhere in central Hogsmeade, maybe? I don't have a good enough knowledge of the place to make an accurate guess."

Peter grinned more broadly still. "Well, Harry, allow me to welcome you to Honeydukes! It is truly one of the most magical places our world has to offer!"

Honeydukes, as it turned out, appeared to be a massive sweet shop. Harry didn’t really know what he thought about sweets, as he could count on one hand the number of times he had ever eaten them. Pettigrew seemed to pick up on at least part of this, as he bought Harry several rather mysterious bags of sweets and chocolates of all varieties.

"Think of it as a very late birthday present," he told Harry when Harry, out of politeness, told him the gesture was unnecessary. The man winced at his own statement. "After all, I've missed ten too many of them."

It seemed, at least at first glance, that Harry's guess about being in central Hogsmeade was pretty on the money once they exited the shop in question. They stood on what appeared to be the main road in the small village, and they certainly did seem to be somewhere near the village's centre. Harry could see the hulking outline of the castle without issue, though from this distance, its details, minus the obvious towers and the like were hidden from him.

"Quite a quaint little place, isn't it?" Pettigrew asked, gesturing around the street and the surrounding area.

"It does seem quite nice." 

"This way." Peter led him up the street, making their way closer to the looming shadow that was Hogwarts castle in the distance. They did not walk nearly that far. A few minutes later, Peter pointed out an establishment that seemed larger and busier than most.

The Three Broomsticks.

When they entered, they were swiftly greeted by a rather attractive looking server. "Hello, Mr. Pettigrew." she greeted Peter with a smile.

"Good evening, Rosmerta," Pettigrew responded pleasantly. "I'm afraid I won't be staying long. I'm just here to escort this young lad to his meeting with Lord Potter upstairs. You understand, of course?"

Without waiting for an answer, Pettigrew stepped past Rosmerta, leading Harry behind the bar and through an oak door that led to a set of stairs. When they climbed up the stairs, there were several doors on the landing, though the largest and most ornate was the one that Harry was quite certain he needed to go through.

"Are you coming?" he asked Peter, hoping for an answer in the negative.

Peter smiled with some regret. "Afraid not, Sport." Harry's eye twitched as he just barely managed to suppress a wince at the nickname. Pettigrew did not seem to notice, or if he did, he didn’t seem to care. "I've got other business I need to attend to while I'm up this way. If you're not comfortable taking the passage back to school, just go up in the carriages with the others." He winked at Harry. "Between the two of us, I doubt that'll be a problem."

He sent Harry one last encouraging smile before, inclining his head to the Potter heir, he made his exit, leaving Harry standing in front of the door alone. Harry closed his eyes and took several long, deep, calming breaths in an effort to keep his tumult of emotions under control. Once he was reasonably confident that he wouldn’t explode at the first sight of his father, Harry slowly knocked on the door, which opened of its own accord a second later.

The meeting room was quite a bit nicer of a setting than Harry was accustomed to. The floors were done in a simple, yet stylish carpet, and there was a large window that overlooked the crowded street below. The room's main feature, however, was clearly the large, oak table that dominated much of its centre. The table was long, clearly meant for meetings of large precessions, if necessary.

What drew Harry's immediate attention was not the room itself, but the man who occupied the seat at the head of the table.

Hagrid had told him, when they first met, that he looked an awful lot like his father. Harry could clearly see their differences in appearance were as evident as their similarities, but he could still see where Hagrid had drawn that conclusion from, even if Charlus was clearly the true doppelgänger of his father.

Like was the case with his twin, Harry shared many similarities to James Potter in terms of facial features. Their jaw was very similar, as were their cheekbones. The general shape of their face too. James's features were sharp and well defined, and though Harry's certainly had some of those elements, his were somehow softer, more aristocratic. He figured the softer features were likely from his mother, though he didn’t really see where the aristocratic look came from. If anything, he would have suspected his father's side, but his father didn’t have that look about him.

Their hair would have likely mirrored each other had Harry not tamed it years earlier. The shade was exactly the same, as was the length. But that was where the similarities ended. Where Harry's was pristine, parted and perfect, James's was chaotic and messy, but somehow still mildly stylish. The biggest difference was their eyes. For one thing, James wore elegant glasses similar to the ones his youngest son wore, and his eyes, unlike his son's, were a deep, warm hazel as opposed to a shocking, intense emerald.

There was silence for some time. Then, ever so tentatively, James spoke, putting some of that legendary Gryffindor courage to use.

"Harry?"

Harry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. 'Like father, like son,' he thought, remembering the way that Charlus had greeted him in almost the exact same manner.

"Father," he responded neutrally, giving away none of his true emotions.

"Charlus… well… he did say you looked a bit different than he expected."

Harry actually did roll his eyes at this. "There was Mum to draw from genetically too." 

"I suppose there was." he conceded with a rather sad smile. "It's a miracle that one of you seemed to take as much from Lily as you did from me. Merlin knows she’s the better parent to draw from…"

Quite the understatement, in Harry’s opinion.

"Well," Harry said carefully, knowing that the ice had to be broken eventually, "I did grow up with her family." He did try and keep the coldness out of his voice, though he did not think he was completely successful.

James winced. "Harry… I… Lily… she was nothing like those muggles." He pressed his eyes shut, sitting in that position for several seconds. Harry did not take his eyes off of James. "Putting you with them… there's nothing I regret more. If I'd have known, if I'd have realized-"

"Did you not have any idea what kind of people your wife's sister and brother-in-law were?"

James sighed. "I knew what Petunia was like as a child. I had no idea what she was like as an adult." He met Harry's eyes and beyond the pain in the older man's, Harry could see an intensity that surprised him. "If I had known what they were like — what they would tell you..."

Harry had to resist the urge to throw everything they had done to him in James's face, not to mention point out that what they had told him had been the least of his worries, but he did not.

"You should have at least checked in on me."

"Yes," James admitted, "I should've. There was supposed to be somebody keeping an eye out for signs of mistreatment, but they clearly didn't do a great job of it." James's voice was bitter, if not outright angry. Harry subconsciously tensed. Angry adults had never boded well for him in the past. Mercifully, James did not notice.

Well — time for the million-pound question, he supposed

"Why did you do it in the first place?" Harry was amazed that his voice managed to stay neutral, but it did.

James suddenly looked every bit as old as Dumbledore. "In hindsight, it looks pretty stupid," he muttered. "Looks like an excuse, anyway. Harry… I didn't know what to do with myself after she… attacked. I was an idiot. I was young and I was stupid; still am sometimes, but that's beside the point. I didn't trust myself to raise one kid, let alone two. It was Lily who was good with that sort of stuff. I walked into the room, did something funny, did a cool bit of magic, and left. I always let her do the actual parenting. It was… easier, I guess. 

“And then with Charlus… well, I didn't trust myself to raise a kid, let alone a war hero." He scowled. "I didn't think I would be able to spend enough time raising you with all of the bullshit that Charlus had to go through. I thought, if you grew up around your brother, you'd be jealous, even spiteful. I thought if you were raised away from him, it might help. A… couple of other people suggested the muggle world. Remove you entirely so you didn't resent your brother, you know?" He dipped his head. "Now, I realize how incredibly stupid that decision was."

'Oh, you have no idea.'

Harry wanted to throw it in the man's face so badly. He wanted to hurl obscenities at him. He wanted to tell him about the long, hungry nights in his cupboard. He wanted to remove his robes and shirt to show James the scars that had manifested as a result of his actions. He wanted to do all of this and more, but he did not dare. He had to control the surging flames of fury that were coalescing inside of him.

'A bridge, Potter. The importance of a bridge; hold it together.'

"I do not forgive you; I may never forgive you," Harry said in that same, flat voice. For a second, James looked as if he had been struck, but Harry went on. "You have absolutely no idea what they did if you think them telling me you were dead was the most worrying of my problems." James paled dramatically. "But, I can… accept — grudgingly, mind you, that your intentions seem decent enough." 

It wasn’t a lie. James seemed to mean well, and Harry did not sense deception in his father. True, he was sure there was probably more to this story than he knew, but that was to be expected; he could investigate later. If James were lying about his intent or the events, Harry thought he would know, as he always had before. "I still think you were an idiot and the literal representation of the absolute worst qualities of Gryffindor; acting without thinking, being too noble to actually think with some common sense, and all the rest. But I… accept your reasoning on one condition."

"Anything."

"I am never going back to Privet Drive."

James looked shocked. "Of course you're not!" he said, sounding confused, even outraged. "Even I'm not that much of an idiot!" The joke fell flat, but Harry could vaguely appreciate the attempt. Finally, he stepped forward and took one of the seats nearest to his father.

There was a long, awkward silence before Harry spoke. "Well, I guess we may as well start over." He held out his hand. "Harry Potter. Your son, first year Slytherin, and Heir of The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter." He watched James carefully for any negative reaction to the bit about his house and his heirship, but he saw none beyond a twitch of the man's eye. Only relief.

James took his hand eagerly. "James Potter. Senior Auror, Quidditch fanatic, former chick magnet and Marauder extraordinaire, at your service." He looked a bit sheepish. "And your Father, of course."

Harry looked at him carefully. "That's going to be weird for me," he admitted.

"You don't have to call me Father, or Dad, or whatever, at least not yet." James sounded like the very words physically pained him. "I haven't earned that title, not by a long shot."

Harry had to resist the urge to scoff. Damn Gryffindor nobility.

"Okay, James." Permitted or not, that had not helped to elevate the awkward tension filling the room. "Can you tell me about Mum?"

For a moment, James looked pained, hesitant even, almost like he would decline. But then, a few seconds later, his face split into a sad smile and the damn broke. 

He learned about how his mother was the best student in their year in spite of her heritage. He learned about how she loved Charms and Potions, about how she had despised him for years when she was all he could think about. About how he had finally got his act together and grew up a bit in an attempt to win her over. About how the day he had proposed had been the happiest of his life up until that point.

Harry also spent a fairly large amount of time asking James about the secret passages around Hogwarts. He learned about a few others that led out of the castle, as well as a few other shortcuts he had yet to find. James mentioned something about a map of the school that he and his friends had used, but he was vague on the topic. Unfortunately, he admitted that nowadays, he hadn't the foggiest idea where that map might be, but he assured Harry that the castle wasn't too hard to figure out if one put the effort in, rare as such a thing was.

Harry listened attentively, asked questions when appropriate, and nodded along. As much as he hated to concede the point, his father seemed a very difficult man to hate. At least, in regards to his personality. He was charismatic and animated, but not annoyingly so, and carried an easy sense of humour that could be universally appreciated. On top of all of that, he seemed all too willing to answer Harry's questions, and Harry was marginally relieved for such a thing.

He did not forgive his father, he was not sure if he ever would. But he decided that a tentative truce or even an alliance seemed in order. The flames of fury still persistently licked all up and down his innards, but Harry managed to suppress them. Long term advances should not be sacrificed out of feelings as immature as anger. He already had his revenge planned. Best Charlus, best James, mould the Potter name in his image. Defy the man quietly, defy the man in a way that would lead only to positive outcomes.

As Harry stood to leave, satisfied with how the meeting had gone but legitimately needing to get back to the castle, he paused, having deliberately left this bit to the end.

James seemed to notice his hesitation. "Was there something else, Harry?"

Harry gave the impression of surprise. Vulnerability would be an asset.

"Um, yes, sorry; I wasn't really encouraged to ask questions at the Dursleys. It's still a little odd, you know."

James winced. "Harry, you can ask me anything and I'll answer you unless I have a very good reason not to."

Harry hesitated, very real worry making the maintenance of his mask all the easier at that moment. "Well… I was wondering… I've been invited to a major social gathering on Samhain. I was wondering if-if you would let me go? If I don't have any obligations at one of your events as the Potter heir that night, of course." Again, he watched James for a reaction to the title, but there was none beyond a bit of surprise.

"I'm glad you educated yourself on wizarding culture," he said, rubbing his temples. "It does make my life a lot easier, and will save both of us hours on end that we could quite frankly be spending doing things that are a hell of a lot more enjoyable than reading etiquette books." He sighed. "No, you have no… obligations. I… well — I don't do much on Samhain, to be honest."

Harry nodded, plastering the most understanding smile he could muster upon his face. It wasn’t hard, as he had decided himself that he would not be partaking in the Hogwarts feast. The Weitts's party was far too big of an opportunity to miss out on, but he would restrain from truly celebrating the day.

"Who is hosting the gathering?" James asked, looking a bit grim for the first time. Harry had no trouble piecing together his reasons. 

On principle, James did not like the fact that Harry was in Slytherin. He had no outright hatred for the house and it did not seem like he would treat Harry any lesser for it, but he had fought many of its alumni on the battlefield, so his perception was naturally a bit tainted. In fairness, Harry could see things from his perspective. His only problem with Harry being in Slytherin, beyond the obvious reminder of how his childhood had differed from Charlus's, was that he seemed justifiably worried about whom Harry was hanging around with.

"The Weitts family."

"A Neutral family, then," James said reluctantly.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You don't like them?"

James shrugged. "I don't know enough about them to like them or not, which is sort of my problem with them, I guess. They stayed out of the last war, but they certainly didn't jump in to help, and they seemed to benefit quite a bit after its end." He appraised Harry. "Even if they're not dark, there will definitely be children and parents from dark families there."

Harry wanted badly to scowl but settled instead for a shrug. There is no light and dark, or good and evil. Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded, he remembered but did not dare to speak aloud. For the first time, Harry thought his father naive and foolish in matters not directly related to him. "I sleep with the children of dark families." He nearly choked on the word ‘dark’ but he managed.

James shifted uncomfortably. "Yes… but… the parents — they're more who I'm worried about."

"I'll be at a public event, in the home of an extremely politically powerful neutral family and probably at the side of the Greengrass Heiress. Nobody will touch me, and that's aside from me being the Potter heir myself."

When Harry spoke the name "Greengrass" he saw James's face darken again, if only for a second. He was distrustful of the Neutrals, it seemed, even if he did not outright dislike them as he did the Conservatives. Harry supposed it was fair, but if he tried to intervene in his friendship with neutral families' children — there would be problems.

"Well…" when he paused, it came together, and Harry could have sneered. His father did not distrust him, at least not outright. He was, however, worried that Harry was too weak and naïve to resist the influences of others that could befall him at this party. He had no way of convincing James this was not the case, at least not without revealing a lot of details he would much prefer remained private. So instead, he fell back on vulnerability, something he suspected would be a good weapon against his father for quite some time.

"Please?" Harry asked, trying his best to dim the light in his eyes as he looked imploringly at his father. "My best friend is going. It would be a good networking opportunity, and I swear I'll be careful. Please?" The word tasted vile in Harry's mouth and he hated himself for the display, but he could practically see his father's resolve crumble in front of his very eyes.

James sighed, and Harry watched with satisfaction as the man's fight drained out of him. "Well… oh, all right then. Just promise me, promise me, Harry, that you'll be extremely careful and stick with the right sort?"

Harry shot James his long-perfected disarming smile. "Of course, Father, I promise."

__**October 31, 1991**  
The Charms Classroom  
1:10 PM 

Harry's life had fallen back into normality since his arrival back at Hogwarts after the meeting with his father.

As close to normality as he was going to get, anyway.

He had made significant progress with the Protego shield but realized it may be a long-term project, so he started learning some other additional spells as well. He just made sure to end each practice with a few minutes of work on the shield. He would have been frustrated had the spell not been so far above his current grade level.

As soon as he made his way through the tunnel back to the castle, ignoring the few rodents he came across once more, he penned a formal letter of acceptance to the Weitts family and sent it off.

In the twenty days since that letter had been sent off, Harry had been balancing his lessons with his extracurricular studies and exploration of the castle. He planned to get a bit further on the latter tonight while everybody else was at the Halloween feast.

As for the lessons themselves, they remained quite mundane. Harry had officially decided, after a fair bit of testing the true limitations of Binns's skills in observation that he was going to start not going to history at all. Binns didn’t even do the attendance, and he would show up for tests and such when Daphne and Tracey told him they would happen, studying out of the history book itself.

The Perks of a near eidetic memory.

He had enjoyed all of his other lessons, though none more so than Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hurst was by far his favourite teacher, and he was quite invested in the subject. Potions was fun as well. Harry often worked with Daphne and was improving very fast with her help. The book from the Restricted Section helped too. Though he knew it was petty of him, he found the frequent sight of Charlus and his group of morons getting sniped at by Snape rather entertaining. Snape was by no means Harry's biggest supporter. He never gave Harry house points, even if he didn’t take any either. Harry never really gave him a reason to. For the most part, Snape just ignored him, but he would occasionally try and catch him out with a question out of the blue.

So far, Charms had definitely been the biggest let-down for Harry. The lessons were interesting, but they had barely done any practical work at all. The only spells they had gone over were Lumos — the spell for wand light, Tempus — the spell used to display the time, and the colour alteration charm— Colovaria. 

That would change today though, a fact that had Harry rather excited as he took a seat next to Zabini, as Daphne and Tracey had chosen to sit together today. Professor Flitwick had promised them they would be working on the levitation charm, and everybody in the class seemed hell-bent to hold him to his word.

Harry knew he could perform the spell without effort, but that was not the point. Just getting to do the spell in an actual lesson in the first place was rewarding enough for him.

Flitwick gave them a long, if admittedly necessary lecture about the dangers of the spell. He punctuated his point with an odd story about a man who incanted incorrectly and wound up with a buffalo on his chest. The Slytherins all saw this for the metaphor it was. Except for Crabbe and Goyle, who looked mildly confused and a bit worried. Harry had the odd feeling that Charlus may have been in that same boat. If not him, certainly his friend, Weasley. subject together. The thought made Harry smile.

Finally, the feathers were in front of them and Harry lazily slid his wand from his holster. Zabini wasted no time as he took out his wand and attempted the charm. On the first attempt, nothing happened, nor on the second. On the third, however, the feather twitched.

"The wand movement and incantation aren't enough," Harry muttered absentmindedly as he moved his own feather into position. Zabini looked as if he would bite back. That was until Harry swished and flicked his wand, spoke the spell clearly, and sent his feather floating steadily into the air, where he allowed it to hover for a few seconds before slowly lowering it back down.

Flitwick was on him in a second, praising him to the moon and back for his ability and telling Harry that his mother was a sort of prodigy in the subject, prompting his stomach to give an odd jolt.

When Flitwick left their table after awarding him ten points, Zabini muttered, quietly enough that nobody else heard him, "All right, Potter. I'm listening."

"Intent," Harry said simply and just as quietly. "Charms isn't that different from Transfiguration that way, even though it's easier. You need to visualize the effect you want your spell to have, or, if you're a bit more confident, just focus on the intent of the spell. Will your magic to do what you want it to do, don't just wave your wand and mutter the incantation."

Blaise nodded slowly. "That… makes a shocking amount of sense, actually." He tried again and this time, his feather jerked a few inches off the desk before falling back down. He grinned.

Zabini, with Harry's help, was the third person in the class to master the charm. The only other to do it faster was Daphne, who was easily the second-best in Slytherin at the subject, possibly in their year in general.

When the period was over, the first year Slytherins and Gryffindors, minus Charlus, who was excused on account of his Quidditch position, went through yet another flying lesson. It turned out that Charlus wasn’t the only Potter with prodigious skill on a broom. Harry doubted he was quite as good as his twin since he’d just not had the practice, but he was damn good, especially for somebody who had never ridden a broom before Hogwarts. The only one in the class on a par with him was Malfoy and though the other boy had cleaner technique as a whole, Harry thought he was the superior flyer out of the two of them, but he also knew all too well that his opinion was not exactly objective.

After the lesson ended, Harry waited around with the others until about thirty minutes before the feast was due to start. He, Daphne and Tracy had been working on the essay that Flitwick had assigned them, but Harry quickly stuffed everything into his bag.

"Where are you off too?" Daphne asked, not looking up from her essay.

"The dormitory, at the moment." 

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant?"

"Of course I did, but it's so much fun to return vague questions with vague answers." When he met her icy glare, he raised his hands in placation. "Ok, ok, I'm going to go exploring."

"But the…" Daphne trailed off, realization shining in her ice-blue eyes for a split second before it was banished just as quickly. "Oh, Harry," she muttered, setting down her essay. Tracey too seemed to have picked up on the occasion. "We can stay with you," Daphne offered, but Harry shook his head.

"No, it's ok. I wouldn't want you to break your own traditions for me. I think it's best if I'm alone tonight anyway, especially since I won't be once we leave for Weitts Manor."

Harry had arranged to floo over at 7:45 and Daphne at 8:00.

Daphne hesitated, but she understood better than anybody else how preconditioned Harry was to isolation, and she understood that it was not necessarily a bad thing. Surprisingly, there was a stunning amount of understanding in Tracey's eyes. She looked almost like she knew the feeling.

Odd.

"Ok," she said with a nod, "just… don't get too lost in your own head, ok?"

He smiled a genuine smile at her before putting his bag in the dorm and setting out on his exploration.

_**About thirty minutes later, in the Great Hall...** _

Daphne loved the Great Hall. It was perhaps her favourite room in the entire castle, at least that she had seen so far. It had a certain magical, yet homely feel to it, and she absolutely loved the enchanted ceiling and how the candlelight danced in the evenings. Tonight though, she was not quite sure what to make of the place.

On one hand, the decorations were, if one looked at them objectively, magnificent. On another, her thoughts echoed the complaints that were running up and down the Slytherin table.

It really was a disgrace to wizarding culture and a slap in the face to any who followed the old traditions.

Daphne was no muggleborn incriminator by any stretch. She could care less what somebody's blood status was. She cared about ability and respect. She had been raised in a family that very much respected high society and pureblood culture. She did not expect the muggle-borns to bow to that tradition and follow every rule without exception, but she did expect them, if they wanted her respect, to make an effort. 

The same went for muggle raised students, which was a small reason why, after allying with Harry on Grace's recommendation, Daphne had been able to genuinely call him one of her two best friends. He wasn’t perfect, there were things he had not yet learned and such, but he had clearly made a titanic effort to integrate. Daphne knew that if she pointed out to Harry an area he had not mastered, he would make the effort to do so.

The hall though… It was so blatantly catered towards the muggle-born students that even Daphne, who found the stereotypical Slytherin sneer distasteful had to fight very hard not to wear it herself.

The hall was littered with massive orange pumpkins, and the walls contrasted between dark blacks and lurid oranges. Granted, the candles shining in the Jack O' lanterns were certainly aesthetically pleasing, but Daphne felt insulted by the entire thing.

She didn’t have a whole lot of time much time to feel insulted, as before the feast could well and truly begin, the doors to the hall banged open, and a hysterical looking Filch staggered in, his eyes wide, almost bulging out of his head as he staggered towards the staff table. A hush fell over the hall as he fell to his knees directly in front of Dumbledore.

"Troll," he moaned. "Goin' up the marble staircase — no idea where to — got the hell outta there as any sensible person would." 

Then, he fainted.

The hall descended into absolute chaos before finally, Dumbledore fired off several booming fireworks from the tip of his wand to get their attention.

"Students! As we are unaware of the troll's path, you will all be remaining in this hall until we return. To ensure nobody gets any ideas to the contrary, I shall assure the area is locked down. Prefects, it is your duty while we are gone to see to the maintenance of order inside this hall." Then, Dumbledore swept to his feet without another word, and with the remainder of the faculty behind him, he marched straight out of the Great Hall. Daphne's sharp eyes did notice, however, that their defence professor did not seem to be among them.

'Odd.'

"Um… Daphne." whispered a terrified sounding Tracey.

"We're going to be fine, Tracey," Daphne assured her friend, giving her hand a small squeeze under the table that was unnoticeable to any who were not closely watching.

Tracey bit her lip. "I know we are, but what about Harry?"

Daphne's eyes widened. "Oh… oh no."

_**A few minutes later, on the second floor...** _

Thus far, Harry's exploration of the castle had been fruitless, but he wasn’t overly bothered as his mind was very much in other places. Half of his mind seemed devoted to theorizing over the endless possibilities of what could have been had Voldemort not decided to ruin his life on this day ten years ago. The other half of his brain was doing its best to mentally prepare him for the Weitts's Samhain gathering, which he was more nervous for than he would care to admit.

Harry was rather skilled in social interactions as long as said interaction did not hinge on emotions, he thought. Manipulation had been an essential tool when growing up. Sweet talking a teacher not to write home, sweet-talking kids not to run off to Dudley's gang anytime Harry upset them and so many other occasions. In saying that, he was still a natural introvert and the prospect of hours of long, painstaking discussion did not sound remarkably appealing to him. And that was ignoring the fact of how uncomfortable it would be. In saying that, it was an opportunity he could not pass up.

So lost he was in thought as he made his way down a second-floor corridor, Harry did not even notice the odd, horrid stench that reached his nostrils. Not, at least, until he rounded a corner and stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

What the hell?'

Lumbering down the corridor, with its massive wooden club at its side was the largest and dumbest looking creature Harry had ever seen. He knew, from his textbook: _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,_ that this creature was a troll, but that did absolutely nothing to assure him. Quite the opposite in fact.

Damn, irony was truly a powerful force. He shouldn’t have left at Weasley for bringing up the beast at the sorting. Moreover, he definitely shouldn’t have actively thought how ludicrous the possibility of running into one any time soon was.

The universe really did work in strange ways sometimes.

Without thinking, Harry's wand shot into his hand. He had absolutely no idea what he could possibly do against a troll, but he had to try. He could have run, but he was one-hundred per cent sure he would not make it far. Trolls may have lumbered in general, but they could be devilishly fast when they wanted to be.

'Well, I know one thing, but do I dare try?'

He didn’t dare, at least not yet.

"Flipendo!" he snarled, flicking his wand towards the troll once it had spotted him and started lumbering in his direction. 

The knockback jinx didn’t quite have the effect Harry was looking for. The troll staggered as if it had run into an invisible wall, but it was only slowed for a second.

"Mobiliarbus!"

Nothing.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Nothing.

The troll was upon him now and raising its club to strike. Harry bit out the only spell he could think of that might save him, never mind the fact he had yet to perform it well enough to make any difference, even in practice. useful.

"PROTEGO!"

The troll's club slammed hard against his shield and Harry staggered backwards as his magical barrier faltered. It was weak for certain, but Harry was, even in this circumstance, so blown away by the fact he had managed one at all that he didn’t much care. The shield gave him enough time to step back and gain his distance for now, but before long, the troll smashed right through and began to lumber towards him once more.

He would have to use his last resort. It was risky — if anyone saw him — if anyone noticed him.

Vilification was better than death.

Harry raised his wand, but before he could reach for his last resort, another, strong, confident voice spoke from somewhere in front of him, behind the troll.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

There was a jet of green light and a rushing sound that was indescribable. Harry could see nothing as the corridor was lit with that same, all too familiar green light. He heard a loud thud and did not need to open his eyes to know that the troll was dead.

He stood there, shaking like a leaf as all of his nightmares from the past ten years crashed over him in waves.

'Keep it together, Potter. No screaming, no tears — not here.'

"Harry," came the same voice from before, but softer. Harry was startled; he knew that voice, but she had never called him by his first name.

His eyes opened. The troll was, indeed, dead in front of him, but standing over it, looking at him with concern in her green eyes that still seemed to shine with an intensity that could not be described, was Professor Hurst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I’m sorry if anybody expected more out of the Harry and James meeting, but I honestly could not see that going any way other than stilted and awkward. Hence why I tried to portray exactly that.**
> 
> **I never explicitly say which spell Harry was going to use, but you should be able to figure it out by the end of next chapter. No, it was not the killing curse. There is no chance in hell he could cast that for so many reasons we need not get into.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised on September 22nd, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	11. Samhain Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
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__**October 31, 1991**  
The Second Floor  
6:11 PM 

"P-Professor?" Harry asked, a rare break in his composure showing through his equally rare stutter. Professor Hurst did not speak for several seconds. She simply looked at Harry with the most calculating stare he had ever had levelled upon him.

'I’m dead.'

"Harry," the professor said, using his first name again, "are you injured?"

"N-no," he answered, doing his best to shove the image of the flash of green light out of his mind. He only partially succeeded, but it was a high enough degree of success to allow him to speak and think with at least a margin of coherence. "No, I'm okay. It didn't get me." He hesitated. "It's dead, isn't it?"

His professor watched his face very carefully as she answered. "Yes, Harry. It is dead."

"Was that… Professor … was that-"

"The Killing Curse, yes. To use that curse on another human being would land me a life sentence in Azkaban. To use it on a creature such as a troll would not, though I would likely have to go through a hearing." She looked even more intently at Harry. "It should go without saying that I would be… extremely grateful if you did not speak on the method in which the troll was killed."

"Of course not, Professor."

Briefly, Harry thought she looked surprised, but she recovered quickly. "Very good. I admit, I was rather… worried as to how you might react."

Harry met her eyes. "There is no such thing as light and dark or good and evil. Only power, and the intent with which it is wielded."

A small, thin smile crossed his professor’s lips. "I am glad we are in agreement," she said softly, flicking her wand towards the troll and causing a rather large lump to rise on its head. He looked confused. "The Killing Curse leaves no trace, Harry."

He nodded in understanding just as footsteps quickly approached. A second later, several figures stepped around the corner. In the lead was Dumbledore, his lurid orange robes seeming to flow around him as he held his wand at the ready. Behind him were McGonagall, Flitwick and Snape. They all froze for some long, agonizing moments before finally, Dumbledore gained his composure.

"Amelia, what has happened?"

"A most unfortunate incident, Headmaster. I was aware that Master Potter was not at the feast tonight, so I decided to go looking for him when the troll's presence was made public." She shot a quick glance in Harry's direction. "By the time I arrived, there was very little for me to do. It appears that Master Potter knocked the troll out with its own club." She turned to Harry. "A levitation charm, I imagine?"

"Y-yes," he answered, not having to fake even a little bit of his stutter. He had expected many things, but that was not one of them.

"He… what?" McGonagall asked, wide-eyed with a hand over her heart.

Snape stepped forward and ran his wand over the troll's head. "There does seem to be damage to the troll's brain." he conceded with obvious reluctance. He looked up at Dumbledore. "It is dead, Headmaster."

Flitwick let out a squeal of surprise, but Dumbledore merely nodded. "Thank you, Severus." He looked towards Harry. "I do hate to ask this of you, Harry, but why were you not present at the feast this evening?"

"I dislike the idea of celebrating anything tonight, Professor. This day holds a different meaning for me." Understanding flashed in the Headmaster's eyes and he nodded sorrowfully.

"Very well. I apologize for prying and not seeing the obvious for myself, but I had to be quite certain you did not go looking for the troll yourself."

For the briefest of moments, Harry thought he saw something in Dumbledore’s eyes, but it made no sense. 

Disappointment.

He peered bewilderedly up at the vibrantly dressed man in front of him. "With all due respect, sir, I would never do something that foolish.”

Again, something flashed in the Headmaster's eyes, though it was there for so short a time Harry hardly noticed it at all.

"A most reasonable way to live your life, Harry," Dumbledore told him. Before he could go on, his eyes widened. Quickly, he turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, assure that the students return to their common rooms at once. Curfew is to be in full effect with the exceptions of those leaving the castle tonight. I must be off." When he turned, his robes seemed to swirl around him once more as he made his exit.

McGonagall blinked, confused, but Flitwick was speaking. "Well, I must say, Master Potter, I am relieved you’re all right. Ten points to Slytherin for rather outstanding wand work."

Harry saw Snape's eyes flash.

"Another ten," said McGonagall, "for composure and bravery in an intense situation. However, Master Potter, please do be much more careful in the future. Filius, Severus, if you could accompany me to the hall." She looked at Professor Hurst. "Amelia, could you please ensure that Master Potter reaches his common room safely?"

"Of course, Deputy Headmistress." Professor Hurst answered, beckoning for Harry to follow her as they made off in the opposite direction from the teachers.

"We're not using the staircase?" 

Professor Hurst quirked an eyebrow. "You students seem to carry the false delusion that you and you alone know of the secrets of Hogwarts Castle." She smirked. "Such delusions are particularly amusing when you consider the fact that logically, we teachers have all spent more time in the Castle than any of you have."

They approached a standard suit of armour leaning up against the wall, but Hurst's attention was fixated upon it. "Concede," she ordered, causing the suit of armour to bow its head and step aside, revealing a concealed staircase leading down.

"Does this lead to the first floor?" 

"There are two options of exit," she informed him as they descended the stairs. "The portrait of the valley on the first floor will swing aside to admit you access if you tap it with your wand, but otherwise, it will lead you very near to the Potions classroom."

"Useful." 

"I certainly thought so."

Neither spoke again until they were in the dungeons. Harry had an idea prodding at the back of his brain, but his years of being conditioned not to ask questions had taken their toll, so he did not dare-

"Curiosity is not a sin, Harry," Professor Hurst said, almost offhandedly.

Harry's eyes widened. "How did you-"

"You are admirably adept at controlling and masking your emotions, but not perfect." She studied him. "Some ingrained habits, are harder to hide than simple emotions."

He hesitated, looking between Hurst and the floor.

Part of Harry was screaming not to ask the question. It was against everything he had been conditioned to do and was technically against the rules. The other part of him quite reasonably pointed out that she seemed to want him to ask, and that after using a Killing Curse in the middle of a school, she was hardly one to claim the moral high ground.

Resigned, Harry decided to take the plunge. "I was wondering, Professor, if you could teach me to duel. Outside of lessons, I mean."

Professor Hurst didn’t even break stride as they continued to walk. "I don’t think you wish to learn how to duel, Harry."

"What-"

"I believe you would like to know how to fight. There is a distinct and important difference between the two." She seemed to watch him for a reaction once more. "Duelling has rules, fighting does not."

He hesitated, fighting down his impulse to bite his tongue for the second time. "Yes, Professor, the latter sounds more useful.”

She did not answer at first, and her face gave nothing away. As they neared the common room, Harry thought she wasn’t going to answer at all, but as they drew even nearer, she proved him wrong.

"Friday — seven o'clock." She paused. "I would use my office, but I suspect we may wish for more space."

"I know of a place, Professor," Harry said, explaining about the room in the depths of the Hogwarts dungeons.

"That seems… adequate. I have seen the corridor you speak of, though I never knew of a room beyond it. There are several shortcuts. The easiest, at present, would be the suit of armour nearest the bottom of the stairs leading into the dungeons." She smiled again. "It is rather fond of a particular Hogwarts Founder."

She turned on her heel and left, leaving Harry in front of the blank wall that was the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He shook his head, hardly able to believe what had all just happened.

_**Some time later, in Professor Snape’s office...** _

Harry had drawn a fair bit of attention when he’d strolled as nonchalantly into the common room as he could manage. Nobody said anything to him, but many of the upper years were shooting him curious glances. He did have to deal with a long round of questioning from Daphne and Tracey. Harry was pretty confident that he had convinced Tracey that he hadn’t run into the troll at all. However, he was pretty certain that Daphne saw through his deflections, though he was not sure if she had pieced the bit about the troll together.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell them, per se. He was worried that if he did, Daphne, who had already shown a protective side to her character, would be hesitant to let him off on his own anywhere without following him. He didn’t want to have to sneak away from his best friends. There was also the matter of Professor Hurst's involvement. He could only imagine how that conversation would go.

'How did you escape from the troll?'

'Ah, nothing too out of the ordinary. Our defence professor just showed up and blasted it with the Killing Curse.'

He almost smiled at the thought, just barely managing to keep from doing just that.

When 7:45 arrived, Harry was the first in Snape's office, ready to use his floo to depart for Weitts Manor.

"Potter," Snape greeted him coolly, not bothering to look up from his stack of what appeared to be essays.

"Good evening, sir."

"You have until noon tomorrow to return to the castle. Most will be spending the night at their homes. If you must return to the Castle tonight, do not dare do so after midnight."

"Yes, sir."

Harry made to throw some floo powder into the fire, rather nervous about travelling this way for the first time.

"Potter."

Snape's voice cut him off and made him pause. "Sir?"

"If you ever do something as idiotic as taking on a full-grown mountain troll again when you could have simply retreated, I promise you, the outcome will not be as... favourable, as it was on this occasion. Do I make myself clear?"

Translation, Snape was going to watch Harry like a hawk and if he made a mistake, he was in for hell.

"Yes, sir."

"You have proven yourself a competent member of my house. See that I do not have to come up with a new distinction between yourself and your idiotic twin."

In a way, Harry was fairly certain that Snape had just paid him the most backhanded compliment one could ever imagine.

"I’ll do my best, sir."

Snape waved for him to go, and Harry, taking a deep breath, threw his floo powder into the fire, causing a wall of green flames to roar into existence. He found the idea of stepping into an open flame rather off-putting, even if he knew the magic would prevent physical harm. Sure of that fact as he was, he had to close his eyes and take deep, calming breaths before he stepped forward and declared in a loud, clear voice as Daphne had told him to do, "Weitts Manor."

Harry could honestly say that he had not expected to enjoy floo travel. As he spun like a cork through time and space, watching fireplaces blur past him faster than his eyes and brain could perceive once he had chosen to open his eyes at all, he realized that he had been one-hundred percent correct in his assumption. He did not quite feel nauseous, but it was not far off.

Luckily, the spinning stopped as abruptly as it had begun. Harry felt his feet slam into the ground hard. Only due to years of necessary fast reaction training did Harry manage to stumble forward, turning the momentum into a few confident steps before he looked around.

It appeared as though he was the first guest to arrive, assuming, of course, that the others hadn’t already been led from the entrance hall.

Leave it up to a bunch of rich, self-entitled purebloods to show up fashionably late.

Speaking of which, the hall was absolutely glorious. It was rather modern, done in beautiful white tiles. At the same time, the high columned ceiling was distinctly old fashioned, but Harry liked the way the white tiles blended with the marble. Off to the side of him, there was a marble staircase that led up to what he presumed were the manor's higher levels. In the centre of the marble floor was an emblem — a crest, Harry assumed, likely for the Weitts family itself.

The majority of the crest was taken up by an impossibly large, rather majestic, Celtic looking tree. Its roots were tangled but stretched high and seemed to be set with a deep black stone. Beyond the central tangle, the roots spread out to either side of what appeared to be a river with a bridge crossing over the top of it. Across the bridge, something, a family motto, Harry assumed, was written in a language he could not distinguish.

φαρμακεία υπάρχω ισχύς

Before he could ponder on the crest, a strong yet smooth voice cleared its throat from a bit in front of him, and Harry's eyes snapped to the figures of four people who were all watching him intently.

The man standing a bit in front was tall and slim. He had light brown hair, deep-green eyes and sharp, aristocratic features. The woman a bit behind him and to his left was… familiar. Harry's eyes widened for the briefest of moments when he recognized her.

'Which means…'

His eyes flickered to the right where two girls stood, one quite a bit taller than the other. The taller one was Grace, as he had expected, but the shorter one — she was the girl whom he had met in the alley and spotted on the platform — Charlotte.

"Greetings, Heir Potter," said the man, stepping forward and bowing before extending his hand. The Weitts family may have actually had more clout than the Potters at the moment, but they still lacked the Ancient and Most Noble title, so the bow was still necessary on Regent Weitts's part. "Sigmund Weitts, Regent of the House of Weitts. It’s a pleasure to have you in my home."

"Well met, Regent Weitts," Harry recited easily. "Your grace and hospitality are acknowledged and appreciated. I thank you for the privilege of attending such an event." Those words were pretty much copied and pasted from his book on etiquette, but if the Weitts Regent noticed, he showed no indication of it.

"The hospitality is my pleasure, Heir Potter." He gestured for the three females to step forward. "Allow me to introduce my beautiful wife, Adriana." The tall, platinum blonde woman whom Harry had met in Knockturn alley bowed her head and graced him with a smile. "You already know my eldest, Grace, of course." Grace nodded to Harry, who nodded back. "And of course, there is my youngest, Charlotte." Charlotte curtsied easily, smiling brightly at Harry. He could tell it wasn’t completely sincere, but it was done very well.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Weitts, Miss Weitts. Heiress Weitts, a pleasure as always."

Grace's lips twitched before she nodded as Harry went through the necessary, formal customs.

The floo was firing again, and a group of unfamiliar wizards were stepping through. "I must admit, Heir Potter, you have piqued much of the magical world's curiosity. I must learn more about you before the night is over. But for now, I need to greet our guests. Charlotte, dear, could you show Heir Potter to the ballroom, please? Get him a seat at our table, as well, if you would."

"Of course, Father," Charlotte said easily, shooting Harry yet another dazzling smile as she stepped up to him. He only just realized in time that he was supposed to offer his arm. He did so in time, and she slipped hers through his. If she noticed how tense he had become for a fair few seconds, she chose not to comment as she led him through a side door off of the entrance hall and into a long, well-lit hallway.

"You remember me," was the first thing she said once they were in the relative privacy of the hallway. 

It was not a question.

Harry's lips twitched. "You did manage to leave quite the first impression." He smirked. "Apparently, I did too, since you also remember me.”

"I suppose you did," she admitted, sounding unconcerned. "You seem surprised. Tense even," Harry realized he probably was still a bit tense as they came to a large set of doors that clearly led to the ballroom.

It was best not to verbalize a reply to that last comment.

They stepped into the ballroom and Harry could have gasped at its majesty. It was the length of the Great Hall with large windows that looked out onto the lush green lawns. There were a number of long tables draped in varying colours of elegant tablecloths. Charlotte led him to the one nearest the open dance floor. Harry slid his arm out of hers, stepped around her and pulled out a chair. 

She smiled at him. "You may be new, but at least you have manners. Or," she said with a rather sweet looking smile, "maybe you're just afraid of me. It would explain the tension, too."

Harry had to suppress a snort as he took the seat opposite her. "So would my explanation." 

She didn’t seem to buy it. "Tense when we were alone in a hallway? It would explain it if we were in the ballroom." She was grinning now.

Harry rolled his eyes. "With all due respect, Scion Weitts-"

"Charlotte." she corrected sharply, taking Harry by surprise. She shrugged. "I don’t like the title of scion and you’re friends with Daphne. She’s like a sister to me."

That was new information.

He was hardly going to argue over something so trivial. "Harry then." She nodded and he went on. "No offence, but I have no reason to fear a ten-year-old who can't do magic."

There was an odd glint in the girl's eyes as she met his. Slowly, deliberately, she slid a thin, dark wand not at all unlike his own from her sleeve, causing his eyes to widen. "What?" she asked him. "Did you think I was in Hephestus's shop to just look around?"

She had a point.

"Touché," he said, watching her wand carefully. It made him very uncomfortable that she had hers out and he did not have his. He knew she wouldn’t curse him, but he hated feeling vulnerable perhaps more than anything else. "It still doesn't change the fact you can't use magic though."

She smiled that same, sweet smile before swishing her wand towards his napkin and silverware.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she incanted lazily, and the napkin and silverware lifted slowly off of the table, stopping to hover right at his eye level. Harry's eyes widened despite himself, but he absolutely refused to gape.

Charlotte held the spell for several seconds before gently floating the napkin back onto the table and sliding her wand back up her sleeve. She held up her hands, palms towards him. "Look at that," she commented with that same, sweet smile, "no letter."

"But… the Trace?"

"Is completely and utterly useless for anybody who is not a muggleborn," she cut across him. Charlotte laughed softly. "Have you not figured it out yet, Harry? Daphne called you a genius."

He met her eyes, trying to look for any giveaways.

They both have custom wands. Maybe they didn’t have-

"Nope," Charlotte told him cheerfully, an almost predatory smile forming on her face when Harry's eyes widened more than ever before.

'How did she-'

"Oh, come on, Harry. I know you can do it too. You did it to me at the wand shop. Surely you've figured at least that part out."

"Get. Out. Of. My. Head!" 

She just quirked a perfect eyebrow.

His eyes flashed as he let go of the restraint he usually held on their shine. Charlotte almost shivered. She had seen something in the summer, but they hadn’t glowed like this.

He focused on pushing his magic past her eyes, at looking into her thoughts. For a split second, he got a flash of… something. It was so fast that he did not even have time to perceive. Then, a second later, he blinked. He was back in the physical world so suddenly it had been jarring. The odd, sudden reorientation left him with a vague headache.

So it did work on magicals then. That clearly wasn’t the problem.

This time, it was Charlotte's turn to widen her eyes in surprise. "You actually don't understand at all, do you?"

"Understand what?" he hissed. 

She raised her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I didn't mean to upset you I just… I had to test you; I was too curious not to, and I thought you could do it too. I thought it was a fair contest." She studied him. "If it makes you feel any better, it has nothing to do with magicals. Here," she said, meeting his eyes once more, "try again. I won't stop you this time, as long as you just glimpse my surface thoughts."

Harry hadn’t even known doing more than that was possible. 

Hesitantly, Harry tried again, trying once more to force his magic passed her eyes. This time, he felt no resistance, and it was as if he was glimpsing the thoughts of muggles once more.

"I can get a wand?" Charlotte breathed, seeming to be surprised.

Harry seemed to be in a room, watching Adriana Weitts through Charlotte's eyes.

"Of course," she responded with a soft smile for her daughter. "I would hardly send you off to Hogwarts without being prepared, would I? It would go against everything I have taught you all these years."

"But… the Trace?"

"The Ministry cannot track a person's magic, Charlotte. Such a thing is impossible. The Trace is applied to a location, not a person. The Ministry can tell where magic is being performed. The reason the Trace applies to muggle homes is that the Ministry can pretty easily assume who cast it. Somewhere like Hogwarts, they couldn’t track it even if they wanted to. There is so much magic to track, and they would have no idea who cast it. The same goes for many Manors, though the wards on this one make the Trace useless as a whole. Even if it didn't, they would only know magic was being cast here, not by whom. How do you think your sister uses magic?"

Charlotte frowned. "I thought you just got her an exception for her grades or something?"

Adriana smiled exasperatedly down at her youngest daughter. "The Ministry works under the assumption that the parents of magical children will monitor their use of magic." She smiled. "Personally, I would rather my children be the best sorceresses they can be."

Again, Harry was forced from her mind, but this time, he was ready for the odd, jarring feeling. time?"

"So,” Harry mused aloud, “some people have a defence against… it?"

Charlotte studied him cautiously. "It's… a lot more complicated than that, but yes, there is a defence against it. Most people have to learn it. Some rare people have a sort of natural defence, but when I say that it’s rare — I mean rare."

"Does the defence or offence have a name?"

"They do, but it won’t do you any good. You won’t find any books on the subject. They’re not exactly legal.”

"You sound… unsure. Something is either legal or it isn't."

"Legal to own, but not legal to read." 

Harry blinked. "That’s… completely pointless.”

Charlotte nodded. "Occlumency and Legilimency," she said after a few moments.

“I’m taking it that Legilimency can also be developed naturally?"

"Yes," Charlotte answered carefully. "That’s even rarer, but it’s possible."

He couldn’t help but think how much of a disadvantage it was to not be raised with these things. The ability to read minds… that was troubling. 

Suddenly, Daphne appeared behind Charlotte, resting her hands on the other girl's shoulders. In an instant, Charlotte was on her feet, embracing Daphne and burying her head into her shoulder. "I've missed you." 

Daphne patted her affectionately on the back. "I've noticed," she said amusedly, taking a seat beside Charlotte. "I would introduce you, but it seems as if you've already met." Harry just nodded and Daphne appraised him. "You look tense."

Harry shrugged. "So I do," he admitted, not really wanting to go into detail about all that had just happened. He wondered absentmindedly whether Daphne knew anything about Occlumency or Legilimency.

"It's just odd to see you anything other than the image of perfection." There was a teasing smirk playing on her lips.

Harry wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. Praise was nice, even in the form of banter, but it wasn’t exactly something he was accustomed to. After a pause maybe just a fraction longer than appropriate, he decided an attempt at banter of his own may be the best course. “Why Daphne, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

She scowled at him. "I’ll make sure it will stay that way if you don't shut up," she warned. Harry suppressed a smirk of his own and mimed spelling his lips shut. Charlotte's lips twitched and Daphne rolled her eyes before Charlotte turned on her eagerly.

"How's Hogwarts?" To Harry, it had seemed moments earlier that Charlotte was nearly double her age. Now, as she looked enviously upon Daphne and the curiosity shone in her eyes, Harry could appreciate that she was not yet eleven.

"I'm enjoying it," Daphne said with a small smile. "The politics have gone a bit too far, but aside from that, I've had a good few months.”

"Tracey?" Charlotte asked, eliciting a nod from Daphne. Charlotte scowled. "Are you going to do something about Malfoy?" 

Daphne smirked. "Oh, he'll get his from me, but I have a feeling Harry will get to him first."

Charlotte peered intently at Harry once more. "You should get on that." He had to resist the urge to grin viciously back at her.

"I intend to." 

"Good," was Charlotte's simple response.

People were now beginning to file into the ballroom by the dozens. Harry glanced around, doing his best to keep tabs on everybody whom he knew, which were very few. Silently, he vowed to improve his knowledge of the names and figures of the magical world, mentally adding it to his ever-growing to-do list.

"How have you found the lessons?" Charlotte asked Daphne.

She shrugged. "They've been enjoyable for the most part, though History is as big of a joke as your Sister said it was."

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Are they difficult?"

"Not really, I have the advantage in Potions and Herbology, but I've done quite well in Charms, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts as well." She shot a sideways glance at Harry, one that seemed almost annoyed.

"I'm taking it you haven't found them overly difficult?" Charlotte asked him.

"No," Harry answered,

"You'll have no trouble," Daphne assured her oldest friend. "Your wand work will be better than mine, and Potions really isn't that hard as long as you actually study the properties and not just go off of Snape's instructions."

Charlotte frowned. "Is he not a good teacher?"

"Not really," Daphne admitted, causing Harry to look at her, asking a silent question with his eyes. "Oh, don't be foolish, Harry. Just because he’s our Head of House doesn't mean we all like him. Don't get me wrong, watching him take the Lions down a peg is entertaining, but he hasn't really taught us anything, has he?"

"I've learned more from you and textbooks than Snape," Harry answered diplomatically.

“You seem to be staying very neutral,” Charlotte observed. Daphne looked rather amused by that. She had said the same thing on a number of occasions in the past whilst getting to know him.

He shrugged. "He dislikes me. Quite a bit, actually. I'm just trying not to sound biased."

"At least he likes you more than he does your Brother."

"I would hope so. I at least have the common sense not to insult his personal hygiene on a weekly basis."

Charlotte's composure slipped. "Your Brother does that?"

"Among other things, actually," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "He's a Gryffindor through and through, and not in the best way by any means. He doesn't think before he acts and he's a bit… tactless.

Daphne sniffed. "That's putting it mildly."

Harry shrugged. "I really wish I could give him the benefit of the doubt, but he's really not making it easy."

Charlotte made to pounce, probably planning to ask a question about his brother, but she was cut off by the arrival of her parents and sister, as well as a few others at their table. There was a rather portly looking man with a lime-green bowler hat and a woman Harry suspected was his wife. Another woman who looked an awful lot like Daphne who was also accompanied by a tall, slim man and a smaller, brown-haired girl. Malfoy was there as well, flanked by a slim, beautiful woman that must have been his mother and a man who looked a lot like Draco, but who leaned on a serpentine cane that Harry thought likely hid a spare wand, or something similar.

The final three people came in directly behind the Malfoys. Like the Malfoys, the parents flanked their child, though in this case, it was a daughter. The man was of average height and had a lean build. He had dark, intense eyes, pale skin, sharp features, and straw-coloured hair. On his wrist shone a vibrant golden watch that was practically impossible to miss. The woman on the other side of the child was about the same height as Draco's mother. She had sharp, aristocratic features, high cheekbones, dark, heavily lidded eyes, a strong jaw, and long, thick, shining black hair. The girl in the middle, their daughter, Harry assumed, looked like a miniature version of her mother, though she was paler, somewhere between her parents in terms of skin tone.

"Introductions are in order," Sigmund Weitts declared as he took his place at the head of the table. "Heir Potter, allow me to introduce you to the Greengrasses; Cyrus, Celia and Astoria." The Greengrasses were sitting just to Harry's right, with Daphne's mother on his direct right-hand side, across the table from her daughter. Harry was at the far-left side of the table, though Regent Weitts at the head was technically on his left. "The next family down from them are the Fudges," Sigmund informed him. "Cornelius Fudge, the man in the lime robes is the Head of the Department of Magical Catastrophes. Next down from them, Lord Lucius Malfoy, Lady Narcissa Malfoy, and their son, Heir Draco Malfoy." 

Harry and Malfoy's eyes locked for a second. Harry could see Malfoy fighting a smirk and just for a moment, he allowed his eyes to flash. Draco looked away suddenly. 

"Last, but certainly not least, we have Barty Crouch Jr. Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, his wife, Lady Bellatrix Black; formerly Lestrange, and their daughter and heiress, Ares Black."

Harry knew the name Lestrange. Two of the family members, Rudolphus and Rabastan were serving life sentences in Azkaban for the torture of the Longbottoms. He had known that Rudolphus's ex-wife, Bellatrix, had remarried, though he supposed it made sense for her to still be associated with the name. 

She was the Lady Lestrange, even though she wasn’t technically a Lestrange by blood. Harry had read that such things were dependent on family charters, the contents of which were hoarded secretively and never released to the public. The best guess he had read was that the Lestrange charter had an extinction clause of some kind. Extinction clauses allowed for unusual actions to be taken when a family was on the brink of extinction. All of the Lestranges were either dead or in Azkaban, so Bellatrix had been the only one left. It was likely that Ares could keep the family going if she sired a child with the Lestrange surname. If she didn’t, the family would probably become extinct. 

Harry had never heard of a magical marriage where both parties kept their last names, but he supposed it made sense. Crouch could piggyback off of his father's success in the ministry, seeing as the man had served as Minister for very near a decade. By keeping the Black name in spite of the marriage, as she was entitled by her place at the helm of the family, Bellatrix could utilize their seat on the Wizengamot, something she would not have been able to do if she switched her last name. It was smart all round. 

Well, she probably could have anyway. All of the Blacks aside from her were either dead, married into other families, or in Azkaban. She would have served as Regent until her daughter came of age, but even then, Ares might have on day married into another family. Harry supposed she had wanted to take no chances, just in case her daughter didn’t manage to sire a child with the Black name.

Harry greeted those at his table formally and properly. Customs dictated he greet them in order of rank. Starting with any Lords of Founding Houses and then descending through the hierarchy before doing the same with the Ladies. When Harry first greeted Lord Greengrass, the head of a Founding Family, he could not help but notice the twitch of Draco’s eye. Clearly, being outranked by the Greengrass family didn’t sit well with him. He filed that useful bit of information away for later.

After everyone had greeted him formally in return, Daphne's mother turned to Harry. “My daughter has written so much about you. It is nice to finally meet you in person."

Harry smiled his well-practised smile. "She's written good things, I hope?"

"Wonderful things," Lady Greengrass affirmed with an approving nod. "She tells me you are rather prodigious with a wand?"

“It Depends how you define prodigious, I guess," Harry answered neutrally, well aware that at least the Weitts family was listening in to their conversation. False modesty was unbecoming, especially for a Slytherin, but he didn’t suspect that outright claiming himself as a prodigy was the correct answer either.

Regent Weitts cut in next. "it’s good to finally see you take up your place in our world. I confess, I expected to at least hear of your name sooner."

Harry smiled, having mentally prepared himself for this exact question. "You and me both, sir, but some family issues kept that from happening." 

Harry was rather proud of that answer. It did an adequate job of answering Regent Weitts's unasked question, but it didn’t give anything away that he was not completely comfortable with.

As they ate, all of them made idle conversation. Charlotte continued to ask Daphne about Hogwarts. The Weitts family talked primarily with the Greengrasses while the Malfoys, Fudges, Blacks and Crouch talked as a group of three. Harry stayed mostly quiet, politely answering questions when asked but not overtly drawing attention to himself.

When desserts too had been consumed, Regent Weitts stood and made a speech about everything that Samhain meant. Harry had already known as a result of his research that it was a day to honour the fallen, but he thought the speech was tasteful and well done as a whole. After one final toast, the floor was opened up. The split was about fifty to fifty, with half of the people choosing to dance and half of the others choosing to network.

Harry glanced towards Daphne. "I’m dancing with my father to open. I’m probably going to be pretty held up as the Greengrass Heiress. I’m taking it you're not overly interested in dancing?"

"No. Come find me when you’re done."

"Oh, trust me, I will."

Before Harry could turn away after Daphne's departure, Charlotte spoke from his elbow. "Not one for dancing, huh?"

He shrugged. "I was never taught," he answered shortly. He had figured it was a passable excuse, and it was, after all, true.

Charlotte frowned at him. "You don't get along with your father, do you?"

Harry debated how much to tell her, but decided on a direct, yet not revealing truth. “We’re working on it.”

"He didn't seem to do his duties as a Lord, seeing as you’re his heir. You said yourself you didn't really appear at these events, which you should have. Now you're telling me you didn't learn how to dance, which you also should have."

"My childhood is complicated.”

Harry expected to see annoyance in Charlotte's visage, but instead, she shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm coming with you."

"You're… what?"

Charlotte smiled and had to visibly suppress a laugh. "Grace is the heiress, so it's her job to politic for the family. I can't really do much, since nobody takes a ten-year-old overly seriously if you're not an Heir or Heiress and Daphne is held up. I may as well shadow someone my own age." She smiled. "And, I admit, you interest me."

If her sister was anything judge by, Harry wasn’t entirely sure whether or not that was a good thing.

"I'm flattered," he said dryly

"You should be."

Harry smiled. "You are not what I expected."

"You didn't expect me at all."

Harry's smile widened. "Touché. You are not what I would have expected."

"A miniature copy of my sister, you mean?"

He winced, realizing how hypocritical it was of him to assume that when he had wanted so badly to separate himself from his brother. 

"Don't apologize," Charlotte cut in, obviously tracking exactly where his mind was going next. "It is unfitting of your station. You had no information on me. it's not the worst assumption to work with." She smiled. "But no, I am not my sister."

"No," Harry agreed, "definitely not.”

Where Grace was distant, quiet, neutral, and seemed to keep everything inside of her own head, Charlotte was more outgoing, more outwardly confident, and had no qualms about making herself heard.

Somebody cleared their throat near the two children and they turned towards the source. Harry saw the same woman from earlier, with her daughter and husband. Her heavily lidded eyes were focused on Harry. "Heir Potter," she greeted him, extending a hand. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Harry briefly ran over everything he knew about Bellatrix Black. Her former husband and his brother were in Azkaban, her current husband had been controlled by Sirius Black in the last war. She held some of the top Defence Against the Dark Arts grades for Hogwarts this century, and she was a daughter of House Black who married into the Lestrange family. In short, she was several layers of danger.

"Well met, Lady Black," Harry greeted her, scraping his lips across the back of her knuckles before straightening up. "Or do you prefer Lestrange?" 

“Black if you must, but I would prefer you called me Bellatrix or Bella. We are family, after all. My former husband was convicted of disgusting crimes, I don’t go by his name." Her smile grew. “Anyway, we are related through the Black family. Did you know?"

"I did," He hadn’t traced his tree back far, but he had examined all of its recent ties. “Harry for me then. And I believe my grandmother was Dorea Black."

"Ah yes, Aunty Dorea. I never did see much of her, I'll admit, but she seemed like a perfectly pleasant woman."

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"No, I suppose not. In any case, it is nice to meet family." She peered at him critically. "Likely the right side of the family too, if the rumours about you are true."

"I’m in Slytherin if that's what you mean." 

She smiled. "Got it in one. That house was always quite sacred to me, growing up a Black, and it served me well throughout Hogwarts."

He felt as though his guard had to stay up at all times around this woman for reasons he couldn’t completely explain. "I’ve enjoyed my stay so far. It certainly keeps things interesting.”

"Just watch that interesting doesn’t turn to danger," Bellatrix warned him with that same, thin smile.

"I’ll do my best."

"Where are my manners?" The woman asked. "Harry, Miss Weitts, I would like you to meet my husband, Barty Crouch, and our daughter and Heiress, Ares."

"How do you do, Heir Potter?" asked Crouch smoothly, dipping his head to Harry before extending his hand.

Harry took it. "Quite well, sir, and yourself?"

"Oh, wonderful. I have always enjoyed Samhain."

Charlotte and Ares had greeted each other, and now Harry turned to the youngest of the family.

"A pleasure, Heiress Black."

Her sharp eyes roamed over him, but her face did not change. "Well met, Heir Potter," she greeted him as he brushed his lips over her knuckles after inclining his head. The Blacks were a Founding Twelve family, and therefore, she outranked him just as Daphne did Malfoy.

"Well," said Crouch with a well-practised smile, "we must be off, but it was a pleasure to meet you, Heir Potter, and as much a pleasure as always, Miss Weitts." When they left, Harry turned to Charlotte.

"How old is she?" 

"Who? Ares? She's my age — starts at Hogwarts next year."

"I would bet my family’s fortune she ends up in Slytherin."

Charlotte laughed softly. "Her father was apparently a Ravenclaw."

Harry blinked. "I… would not have guessed that."

"I don't think most would have," Charlotte agreed. "Explains how he was overpowered in the war by a Gryffindor.”

Harry smiled. "You seem to have your house loyalties sorted out quite early."

She shrugged. "There's nothing really wrong with Gryffindors, but if they were going to best a Slytherin, it would be in open combat."

Harry nodded. "You'll hear no arguments from me."

Harry met quite a few witches and wizards, with Charlotte in tow. He spent more time speaking with Cornelius Fudge, who apparently wanted to run for Minister of Magic next election. He also met Rufus Scrimgeour, the Head of the DMLE, though they exchanged only pleasantries, as well as a number of others.

Finally, Charlotte's mother appeared from the fray an hour and a half later. "Your Father wishes to dance with you," she told Charlotte, who nodded obediently and made her way to the floor. Before Harry could slip away, those magnetic eyes had fixed upon him. “Would you do me the honour of accompanying me for a dance?"

Harry internally winced but externally smiled as charmingly as possible. Dancing was not high on list of activities he might enjoy. Far too much physical closeness for his liking. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, ma’am. I never property learned to dance.”

"No time like the present to correct such an atrocity," she countered with a small smile of her own. Harry thought it looked victorious. "If you have studied etiquette as closely as it seems, I’m sure you will manage."

And just like that, Harry had been effortlessly outmanoeuvred and cornered with one move. This woman was good

"If you insist," he said politely, having no real choice by this point. He was doing his best to hide the anxiety that was crashing against his consciousness in waves. He disliked being so much as touched, let alone being as close to somebody as dancing made inevitable. On top of that, there legitimately was the very real possibility he was about to make an idiot of himself.

He followed in Lady Weitts's wake until they were on the dance floor. Thankfully, she had not taken them to its centre. Then she stopped and reached for his hand. For a second, his grip on her larger hand tightened considerably, but he made a conscious effort to tone it down before slowly, unsurely, he placed his hand on her hip.

"See?" she told him. "You aren’t completely inept."

If she noticed how tense he was as she led him through the motions, which he was sure she did, she did not comment. "My daughters seem very interested in you," she said casually.

"Your youngest, at least," Harry said quickly, clinging onto the conversation. Anything to focus on except their closeness.

Adriana chuckled. "Oh yes, Charlotte seems the keener of the two, but trust me, you have not escaped Grace's notice either."

He wondered how annoyed Grace would be with her mother giving away her secrets.

"You seem surprised?" 

"A bit, yes," he admitted. "I would think that there would be better people for a sixth year to be interested in than a first year."

The woman looked at him pointedly. "False modesty is unbecoming of you," she told him. "Your deflection at the table was well done, but you did not deny that you are prodigious for your age with a wand, and there is a certain air about you, for those who know what to look for."

Harry didn’t really know what she meant by that second bit, but he would remember it nonetheless. 

"You can’t tell me you would not be interested in yourself if the roles were reversed? The heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House who seemed to appear from nowhere and go the exact opposite way of the rest of his family?"

"I would probably be interested, yes." There was a moment of pause where Lady Weitts seemed to give him an opportunity to say more, but he did not.

When the song ended, they broke apart, and Harry visibly relaxed. "Would you mind pointing me to the nearest bathroom is?"

It was time to address the main reason he was here.

She smiled. "Of course. Walk out of the ballroom doors and down the corridor to the left. When there is a chance to turn left or right, turn left and it will be the first room you come to."

"Thank you."

Harry made a point of not being seen as he slipped out of the ballroom.

_**Ten Minutes Later...** _

When he returned to the room ten minutes later, he was quickly sought out by not just Charlotte, but Daphne too.

"Finally free from high society, Heiress Greengrass?" Harry asked with a grin.

Daphne glowered at him. "You say that while you're standing in a mansion's ballroom. Does the hypocrisy leave an aftertaste in your mouth?"

He chuckled in spite of himself. "That's a good one," he admitted. "I'll make sure to use that on you in the future. Oh, and it does — it's quite sweet, actually."

Charlotte couldn’t help but giggle as Daphne just rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."

"Yet you made it a point to find me."

"Because you asked me too…"

"The look of regret when you told me you were going off said it all."

Daphne made to bite back, but before she could, a scream rang through the ballroom, and everyone fell silent. 

There was a blur of motion, and a man fell backwards. As he fell, something wrapped around him. A moment later, the gathered crowd realized that the something in question was a massive, ten-foot-long snake of a dark grey. The man, who Harry now realized with mild horror was Rufus Scrimgeour, struggled for a moment before somebody drew their wand and fired a spell at the snake. Evidently, whoever fired had no idea what they were doing. Instead of doing any good, the spell simply startled the snake — a black mamba, as a matter of fact, and caused it to sink its fangs into Scrimgeour's leg.

Harry's eyes widened. 

'Shit!'

A second later, the snake was struck by another spell. This time, the caster, who Harry would later find out was Daphne's father, seemed to know what he was doing. The snake's coils went limp for a moment, and Scrimgeour, who was convulsing by this point, managed to pull free. As a crowd rushed forward to try and help Scrimgeour, the snake slithered up, in plain sight of the entire room, to a rather horrified looking Draco Malfoy, slithering up and around his arm.

The room burst into chaos.

'Well,’ Harry thought darkly, ‘it kind of worked.'

_**Ten Or So Minutes Earlier…** _

When Harry entered the bathroom in question, he reviewed his plan one final time.

Quite simply, if Malfoy wanted to play at frame jobs, Harry would happily play his game. He’d gotten the idea of summoning a snake from Higgs, who had used the trick in his duel with Grace, though it had done little to change the outcome. Harry had remembered the incantation, Serpensortia, and had studied it a bit. As it turned out, the conjured snake was supposed to be hostile or neutral to any but its conjurer. It was, however, supposed to be completely and utterly docile to its summoner and its summoner alone.

Unfortunately for Draco, that did not account for Parselmouths. They were the exceptions to that rule, as they could control snakes of all kinds.

"Serpensortia."

The black mamba that Harry could easily envision thanks to the imagery of Rex in the dungeons slithered from the end of his wand and looked around for a victim. Before it could decide to slither away, Harry surprised it with a hiss.

**"Wait!"**

The snake paused. **"You speak?"** It asked

 **"Clearly."** Harry hissed, as sarcastically as the language of snakes would allow. **"Can you understand and obey me like a normal snake?"** The mamba jerked its head in an unmistakable gesture of affirmation. **"Excellent. Listen closely…"**

Harry thought having a mamba knock someone to the ground before slithering obediently over to Draco Malfoy would be a rather clever political play, and would essentially ruin the boy's reputation, if not his family's, at least for a short time. He didn’t want the snake to harm anybody, which he made very clear. Unfortunately, he could not plan perfectly for the future.

_**Back in the present...** _

It was pandemonium in the ballroom. Scrimgeour was immediately transported to St. Mungo's via an emergency portkey, made specially by Regent Weitts himself once an emergency bezoar had been shoved down his throat by Daphne's father. The Malfoys left in a hurry, with Lucius's firm hand clasped painfully tight looking on Draco's shoulder.

The gathering had sputtered out from there, as everyone's minds were now definitively in other places.

Even after all of that, the night and its surprises had not yet concluded.

Harry was the last guest to leave the manor, as he was the only one who would be flooing back to Hogwarts. All the other heirs and heiresses were flooing back to family homes. Before he could make it to the fire, an odd-looking creature popped into the room. Its skin was greyish and it had huge, brown eyes. It was quite short and wore a uniform embroidered with the same crest Harry had seen on the entrance hall floor. The same crest, that, as a matter of fact, he could see at this very moment.

"Yes, Hestia?" Lady Weitts asked the creature.

It looked up at her, wide-eyed. Harry, Grace and Charlotte, as well as Lady and Regent Weitts were all gathered in the room, as the latter four had been apologizing and sending guests off politely since they had to cut the gathering several hours short as a result of the fiasco.

"Hestia be receiving a message from H-H-Hogwarts, M-M-Mistress." Regent and Lady Weitts exchanged glances.

"What did it say, Hestia?" Regent Weitts asked the creature kindly.

It began to shake. "N-n-nobody can floo back to Hogwarts tonight, Master. The school is on l-l-lockdown." Harry's eyes widened as his heart leapt into his throat.

Even the Weitts's looked surprised. "Did they say why it is locked down, Hestia?"

"Y-y-y-yes M-M-Mistress." The elf took a deep, calming breath before it dropped the metaphorical bomb. "A student has been found dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I would apologize for the cliffhanger, but ending social events with a bang when possible is sort of a tradition of mine.**
> 
> **The translation is courtesy of Yoshi89 from my Discord server. He specializes in a number of ancient languages and dialects. Frankly, that motto is an obscure dialect of Ancient Greek that is comprised in an unorthodox fashion. I wouldn’t waste your time trying to translate it. It will be revealed in time.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised on September 26th, 2020 with the help of Discord editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	12. Alliances and Atrocities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
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_**October 31, 1991  
The Gryffindor Common Room  
8:53 PM** _

Charlus frowned at Ron, who was still digging ruthlessly into the desserts that had been brought to the common room along with the rest of the feast. The feast was continuing in the common rooms so students could safely finish the meal without worry about the troll.

"The troll couldn't have just snuck in," Charlus was saying. "The wards around this place are crazy.” 

Ron frowned. "You reckon someone let it in then?" 

Charlus shrugged helplessly. "I don't see how else it could have got in. Trolls are definitely dark. They're wizard killers and their skin will deflect most magic."

Ron blinked. "You… uh… don't take this the wrong way or anything… but you seem to know a lot about some stuff, but then you're clueless about stuff like Potions and a lot of the Charms theory and stuff like that."

Charlus rolled his eyes. "I've told you," he said in a low voice, "Dad's made sure I've studied defence for ages. I didn't actually get to use the magic, but I studied a bunch of creatures and some spells." He shrugged. "I've known about trolls forever. I never studied Potions. And Charms… well, Dad was always more into Transfiguration. I think I'm pretty good at that."

Ron raised his hands. "I'm not insulting you, mate. It's bloody cool and all, it's just really weird how you can go from clueless to brilliant just like that."

"I don't know if that made me feel more or less insulted." Both boys snickered, but their humour was cut off by the magically magnified voice of Professor Dumbledore, which rang through every inch of the castle, sounding graver than any had ever heard it before.

"ALL STUDENTS ARE TO REMAIN IN THEIR COMMON ROOMS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE IS GIVEN. LESSONS ARE CANCELLED UNTIL ALL OF YOU HAVE BEEN TOLD OTHERWISE. ALL TEACHERS, PLEASE REPORT TO THE STAFF ROOM IMMEDIATELY, THANK YOU."

Everyone in the Gryffindor common room fell completely quiet for several moments before the room exploded in chatter.

"What do you think happened?" Ron asked Charlus.

"Surely the troll didn't… you know… kill anybody?"

Ron frowned. "Nah, can't have. They said it was dealt with, didn't they?"

"Yeah, but it could've got someone before it was dealt with."

The two boys exchanged nervous glances. "The cloak?" Ron whispered, causing Charlus to frown.

"What-"

"The cloak!" Ron continued in a low voice. "You wore it that night to the hospital wing!"

"Uh… yeah, I did."

Ron beamed. "We can sneak out under the cloak and go eavesdrop on their staff meeting!"

For a moment, Charlus looked frozen in shock. Then, his face split into a wide, mischievous grin as he clapped Ron on the shoulder. "That's brilliant!"

_**About ten minutes later...** _

Ron and Charlus slid effortlessly into the staff room. The door had been left open, as the teachers, who had escorted all the students to the common rooms, were clearly unconcerned about them approaching. 

When the two first year Gryffindors slipped into the room, there was only Dumbledore present. He sat at the head of a long table, and the twinkle that was usually present in his eyes was noticeably absent. He was drumming his long fingers on the desk as if in deep, anxious thought. The appearance of Dumbledore like this, the man whom Charlus had known for years and never seen rattled actually sent a shiver up his spine. 

Footsteps quickly came from the doorway behind them, and Ron had to stamp on the surprised Charlus's foot to get him moving. Both boys slipped to the far corner of the room, watching the professors file in and all take their seats. McGonagall and Snape sat closest to Dumbledore, with the rest of the staff filling out the table. Only when everyone was present did McGonagall speak.

"Albus, what’s happened?"

Dumbledore seemed to slowly come out of a trance. His fingers stopped drumming and with what seemed to be a great effort, he opened his eyes, which he had closed some time ago. He looked up and at each of the professors in turn.

"There is no polite or eloquent manner in which I can break this news to you.” When nobody so much as breathed, Dumbledore paused for a moment before speaking. "This evening, while dealing with the troll, I was alerted to the tripping of the wards behind the locked door on the third-floor corridor." If possible, the silence around the table seemed to grow heavier, even more oppressive. In spite of himself, Charlus felt himself lean forward. That horrible image of the three-headed dog had been permanently and vividly painted in his mind's eye. Perhaps now he would get the answers his father had most uncharacteristically refused to give him.

Dumbledore took another few seconds to peer at each of the professors in turn before he closed his eyes again and broke the news to the staff and, unknowingly, to Charlus and Ron. "I quickly left to investigate, and when I entered the third-floor corridor — I found a seventh year Slytherin student dead at the feet of the Cerberus." Almost the entire staff gasped as one. "It was… not a pleasant departure from the land of the living. Very… messy."

Ron gasped too, but thankfully, his sound of surprise was masked by those of the teachers. Charlus's eyes were as wide as saucers and his heart was in his throat as his skin lost all noticeable colour.

A student... dead?

"Who was the student?" Snape asked, and his voice was so soft, so fearful, that Charlus hardly even recognized it, and likely would not have at all if not for his eyes.

"Terence Higgs. I presume he took advantage of the chaos to go and investigate."

"Do you think it was him who let the troll in, Albus?" McGonagall asked.

Charlus and Ron were still so far in shock, they barely registered the impulse to lean forward and listen even more intently.

"Impossible!" snapped Snape. "There is no way Mister Higgs, an admirable student in Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration but by no means a prodigy could have gotten that creature past the wards."

"I am inclined to agree with Severus," Dumbledore answered carefully. "The exception to this, of course, would be if Master Higgs was acting under the influence of another." He paused. "I wish this was unnecessary, trust me, but I must ask each of you to submit your wands for Priori Incantato." All the teachers nodded, ashen-faced. Nobody objected. "Amelia, would you be amiable to going first?" 

"Of course, Headmaster.” She stood, smoothly striding over to Dumbledore and handing over her wand. Charlus watched in fascination as Dumbledore pressed the tip of his wand to hers. His dad had told him about this procedure. It was one that was commonly used by the DMLE and was nearly impossible to fool.

The ghost-like re-enactments of Hurst's last number of spells flowed into the air. The only things revealed were older years’ defence spells that Charlus did not recognize, but that she had demonstrated to her older students earlier that day.

One by one, Dumbledore tested the wands of each and every one of his staff members but found nothing. When the last wand, Snape's, had been checked, he sighed.

"My apologies. I do not mean to imply a lack of trust, but it would be a practice of malfeasance on my part if I did not at least check."

"W-What will happen now?" Flitwick asked, still sounding as horror-struck as Charlus felt. He had grown up hearing that Hogwarts was the safest place on earth and less than two months into his stay, a student had actually died — no, been killed. "Will the Aurors investigate, Albus? Surely you would not have them discover the stone?"

'The… what?'

"They will not. Due to the death of a student, they are permitted to investigate, as I am sure they will." He looked around at all of them. "As far as any of you are concerned under the questioning of the Ministry, Terence Higgs was murdered by the troll in the second-floor corridor nearest the out-of-order girl's lavatory." All the professors nodded mutely. "If the Aurors have no reason to investigate the third-floor corridor, I think it unlikely they will make a point of it. If they do, there are — other ways to ensure that most unfortunate event does not come to pass."

Snape sneered. "By which, you mean ensuring your lap dog leads the investigation."

"Severus-"

"I still fail to see, Headmaster, why you involved Potter at all."

Charlus bristled, but Ron took a firm hold on his sleeve. “That slimy-“

"I would trust James Potter with my life. Just as I would in the case of yourself." He peered at Snape intently. "If these events do come to pass, should this not answer that very question most precisely?"

Snape scowled. "If you told your dog to roll over, he would do so. You would not need to give Potter justification to follow you blindly, Headmaster."

"That is enough on the matter of James, Severus." Dumbledore looked around the room. "I must impose all of this information under the oath of secrecy you all took at the beginning of this school year in regards to the stone," he told them all. They all nodded. Dumbledore sighed once more. "I must go inform Bartemius of what has happened, and I shall likely need to meet with the boy's parents as well. Lessons will likely remain cancelled for the duration of the week and well into next, as I estimate the Aurors will call the castle home for at least that long. I would not have the students mingling about with Aurors in the castle." Dumbledore swept to his feet. "Well, I must be off."

As the teachers all filed out of the room, Ron and Charlus were left shocked at what they had heard, terrified of its implications, and curious as to whatever stone was so important that Dumbledore was willing to lie point-blank to the Ministry of Magic in order to keep it hidden.

_**October 31, 1991  
Weitts Manor  
10:43 PM** _

Harry's mask, this time, fell apart completely. Even all four members of the Weitts family showed varying degrees of shock.

'This day will just never end.'

"You're… quite certain, Hestia?" Regent Weitts asked, to which the elf nodded urgently.

"The Headmaster be telling the Hogwarts elves to come tell Hestia, sir."

"Who is it, Hestia?" Grace asked. Her voice was soft but remarkably still neutral. Harry had to applaud her. There was, he was quickly learning, a reason why she was at the top of the food chain in the house of cunning, and not all of it had to do with her wand work.

"They do not be telling, Mistress Grace." The elf answered. "Just that nobody can come back to Hogwarts ‘til the Headmaster says it's okay, miss."

Harry's heart rate quickened. Now that the initial shock of that bomb had settled enough for him to implore a degree of cognitive thinking once more, Harry wondered what on earth that would mean for him.

Evidently, the Weitts Regent was thinking along the same lines. "Did the elves say for how long the students would be unable to return to the castle?"

The elf shook her head. "Just when the Headmaster says it is okay, sir."

"Thank you, Hestia." Lady Weitts dismissed the elf with a wave of her hand. There was complete and total silence in the entrance hall of Weitts Manor for several moments after the elf's departure.

"I suppose we best try and get a hold of Lord Potter, then." In spite of himself, Sigmund Weitts sounded rather unsure of himself. Harry tensed only for a second, but it was apparently enough to give him away.

"Isn't Lord Potter an Auror, Father?" Charlotte asked him, seeming to take the man a bit by surprise.

"He is. He’s one of the three Senior Aurors along with Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt.”

"Well… won't he be called to Hogwarts then?"

The Weitts parents exchanged looks and Grace shot a rather calculating glance towards her younger sister. "It is certainly a possibility." Regent Weitts answered. "But I imagine he would at least like to take his heir in for the night, and I'm sure he could come to arrangements after that point." Harry bit down hard on the emotion that threatened to show across his face.

"You do not wish to be sent to your Father, do you?" It was Lady Weitts who asked the question, and her stare seemed to make it oddly impossible for Harry to lie.

"I… can't say the idea is thrilling.” 

"Harry," Charlotte said with a roll of her eyes, "the gala is over. Stop dancing around the point — it's obvious."

Harry saw Grace's lips twitch as he frowned at Charlotte, who just glowered challengingly back at him. "I would rather not." he finally admitted. "But I don't exactly have much of a choice-“

"Nonsense," Lady Weitts cut in, surprising Harry once more, "Charlotte is likely correct that your Father will be called into Hogwarts, and if you don’t wish to be sent to him, you shouldn’t have to be." She turned to Charlotte. "Can you please show Heir Potter to one of the guest rooms, Charlotte."

Harry debated telling her something along the lines of she didn’t have to do this. He didn’t though. Partially because he had no desire to argue with the course of action, and partially because she obviously knew that already.

"It's settled then," said Sigmund. "I’ll send an elf for your trunk from school and a letter to Lord Potter to inform him of the situation. Should I inform it of any other belongings?"

"No, sir. He always left everything in his trunk, which was protected by a Parseltongue password. Perhaps he was paranoid, but he preferred to define it as cautious.

"Well, that was easy," said Charlotte, beckoning for Harry to follow her. "This way." he followed her out of the room, and only once they were out of earshot did he ask the question.

"Why?"

She quirked an eyebrow but did not break stride. "You'll have to be more specific than that."

"You manipulated your parents into offering me a place to stay. I… appreciate it and all, but why did you do it?"

Charlotte's lips twitched, but she managed to suppress her rather obvious smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said brightly. "Anyway, Mother likes you."

He blinked. "How can you possibly know that?"

"Because she would have scoffed at the idea of housing you if she didn't," Charlotte told him bluntly. "I think she was on her way to offering you a room anyway."

Harry had no idea if that was true or not, and as such, he didn’t really have a response. Charlotte led him to a rather beautiful painting of an overhead shot of a tropical island surrounded by the sea. She lifted her hand and pressed it flat against the painting, causing it to simply swing forward, revealing a hidden, narrow staircase.

As they climbed to the top of said stairs, Harry Ignored the rather jarring revelation that the manor apparently had secret passages and decided to try and get a lay of the land. "How many floors are there?"

"Three, not counting the basement. We're on the top one now. We were on the ground floor before, as I'm sure you probably guessed." 

She led him down a long hallway and passed several ornate doors before stopping in front of one of them. "I'm in the next room to the left. If for any reason you need anything you don't trust an elf for, come and get me. A bathroom is attached to the room and if you want to summon an elf, just call Hestia's name." 

"Wait, Charlotte… Was it that obvious? My relationship with my Father, I mean?"

“It depends on who’s watching you, I guess. It was for me. You haven't spent as much time with him as is proper. If whatever I saw at the train station is true, which I'm certain it is, your childhood didn't look great." Harry flinched at the reminder of her seeing that memory. 

"You didn't want to go to your family Manor, and you act surprised by something that is in most Manors of old or powerful families from what I know of. Your family has always been pretty secretive, so I'm sure yours is probably full of them. So yes, to me, it was pretty obvious you didn't get along with him, but I've been told I notice things I probably shouldn't at my age."

"You don't speak like somebody your age probably should," Harry added as an afterthought, mentally trying to figure out how he could be less obvious about his personal life in the future.

She laughed softly. "I've been told, but neither do you. Neither do most magical children. It’s just how that works.”

Harry blinked. “I’ve… never heard about that.”

“I guess it isn’t really taught. Basically, your body absorbs magic from all around you to use. Most of it gets projected back out, which is how you cast. A tiny amount of it always gets stores though. Not enough for it to even really be considered magic. At the end of the day, magic is a form of energy. When we store this little bit extra, it helps with a few things. It does give a slight increase to brain functions. Not a massive one, or anything. 

“It doesn’t necessarily mean we’re smarter than muggles, but it does mean we can pick things up faster. That’s why a lot of magical children have more advanced speech patterns. It’s also why there’s such a difference between noble and non-noble children. All of the noble families spend a huge amount of time on English, and since the kids pick it up faster, they usually speak much more advanced than they should for their age.

“This also works for healing in the same way. If a magical and a muggle both have the same injury, the magical will heal first if the conditions are the same. Not by a huge amount, but they will. Because some of that energy speeds up the healing process. It might be used for other things too, I’m not sure. Those are the two main examples that are already used.”

Harry idly wondered whether that was one of the reasons for wide-spread bigotry against muggles, but he didn’t comment on the thought. It was too late and he was too tired.

“We should really be taught this,” he muttered.

“Yes, but everybody should really be taught a lot of things they aren’t. Etiquette and such comes to mind. Just another way of making it harder for muggleborn and muggle-raised students.”

Harry nodded. “Charlotte… thanks... for everything.” Merlin, he was bad at thanking people. It wasn’t as if he’d had a lot to thank anybody for in the past, so he supposed it was only natural.

She peered at him for a few seconds before answering. "You're welcome." She smirked. "You're too interesting for me to just let you go."

_**November 1, 1991  
Weitts Manor  
8:02 AM** _

Harry awoke early the next morning, still seemingly unable to curb years of habit in regards to his sleep schedule. The opportunity to truly examine his surroundings for the first time presented itself. He was in a massive room, and he meant massive. He wasn’t sure if it was the size of the entirety of the Dursley's first floor, but if it wasn’t, it was very close. The carpet was a lush red, and much of the room was open space. On the opposite side of the room from his bed was a titanic, walk-in closet that contained a generic, but tasteful looking wardrobe. Beside the closet was a door that Harry assumed led off to the bathroom. The door attached to the wall on his left clearly led out of the room. To the right, another door led out onto a beautiful balcony that overlooked a shimmering blue lake that seemed to sparkle invitingly in the early morning sunrise.

Not quite knowing what to do with himself once he had showered, Harry rummaged through his trunk and pulled from it his Transfiguration textbook. For the first time, he flipped to the second year portion and began to read, taking notes on his: questions, assumptions and, observations. He became so engrossed by the task that he didn’t look up from the book until a soft knock resonated against the door. When he peered over the book, he had to blink at the sudden excess of light that had flooded the room since he had last paid any modicum of attention.

Getting to his feet and setting the book down, still open on the bed, Harry stepped in front of the door and pulled it open. Charlotte was there, dressed in far less formal robes than she had been dressed in the night before. These were a simple black.

"Good morning," she greeted him, still seeming a bit groggy.

His lips twitched. "Not a morning person, are you?"

"Obviously not as much as you. Breakfast is being served in the dining room if you’d like to come down with me. If not, you can have an elf show you the way later."

"I'll come.” He wouldn’t eat much, but he had been forcing himself to eat breakfast to the best of his abilities all school year, and this was about the time he would eat on a normal morning at Hogwarts. It wouldn’t do for him to off-put his body's natural schedule. Charlotte nodded and gestured for Harry to follow her, which he did. "I don't suppose I could get away with that trick you used for the passage last night?"

“No, nobody but a Weitts could do that."

"I assumed as much, but it was worth a shot." A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "How does that work, anyway?"

"I have no idea. I would say you could ask Mother since she definitely knows, but it's family magic, I think. If it is, she wouldn't tell you even if she could.”

He couldn’t help but think that family magic sounded rather interesting. Absently, he wondered what the Potter family magic might include.

They slipped through the same passageway that they’d used the previous night and made their way down the narrow staircase. It took Harry's eyes a shockingly short amount of time to adjust to the darkness.

The walk was much shorter than the one to the ballroom. They promptly turned a corner and Charlotte pushed through a door, admitting them into the large, white-tiled dining room. Grace, along with Regent and Lady Weitts had already taken seats at the table.

"Good morning, you two," Lady Weitts greeted. Regent Weitts nodded his agreement but did not look up from the morning paper.

"Morning Mother, Father." Charlotte turning to her father. "Is there anything in the paper about Hogwarts?"

The man snorted softly. "Of course not. I doubt Dumbledore will let that information go public."

Harry twitched. He wanted so badly to ask so many questions, but he was ungifted at that in the best of times, and he was still a bit uncomfortable around this family, or adults in general.

"Is something wrong, Mister Potter?" Lady Weitts asked him. Harry noticed that she had dropped the title of "Heir". It was still formal, but much less so. He supposed it would only make sense, especially if they had the potential of spending multiple days together in the same house.

"Not at all, ma'am. Just… curious, is all."

"About what, exactly?" she asked him, folding her hands in front of her nearly empty plate as she focused her attention entirely upon him for the first time in a non-formal setting. Harry still found those eyes rather off-putting.

"Dumbledore," he admitted. "I know that he's powerful politically, but does he really have the pull to cover-up the death of a student?"

Lady Weitts sipped her tea before answering, but, to Harry's slight surprise, she did answer him. "I suppose, to use a quotation similar to the one you yourself used last night, it would depend on how you define a cover-up." Harry noticed that both Grace and Charlotte were also listening to the conversation attentively. "If you are asking me if he can keep the information from officially being made public, then the answer is almost certainly a yes, presuming that the cause of death is not proven to be overly dramatic. If you're asking me whether or not he can keep anybody outside of Hogwarts from knowing, then the answer is a resounding no."

"Do you think the students know?" Charlotte asked.

"Doubtful. They certainly know something has happened, though I doubt they know what."

"Surely they'll figure it out though?" Harry asked slowly.

Grace sniffed lightly in amusement. "You haven't been at Hogwarts long enough to understand how the rumour mill works."

Harry peered at her inquisitively. "Care to enlighten me?"

"Certainly." Grace acquiesced with a small smile. "There will be forty different theories out there by the end of the week, and everybody will be so overwhelmed by all of them that nobody will know what to believe."

"That seems… extremely counterproductive."

Grace's smile grew by the smallest of margins. "Quite."

Harry eyed the four of them critically for a moment. "I'm not one of Dumbledore's worshippers," he prefaced, "but, for some reason, everything I've heard about him doesn't make it seem like he would be the type to hide a murder from a school."

Something… odd flashed in Lady Weitts' eyes, but a split second later, it was gone, and Harry wasn’t even sure he’d seen it at all. "No wizard alive has more secrets than Albus Dumbledore.” It sounded quite significant somehow.

Harry's curiosity was piqued, but he got the impression that this was not a topic to push the woman on. Instead, he took a seat, pulling a small amount of fruit and a piece of toast towards him and he began to eat slowly. Regent Weitts stood during that time, bidding them all a good day as he left, likely to go and help run one of the Weitts's numerous businesses.

"What were all of your plans for the day?" Lady Weitts asked the three of them after a few long moments of silence.

"I have a couple of essays I may as well finish," Grace answered. "Aside from that, I'm not entirely sure yet."

Charlotte peered at her mother. "We're still having lessons today, right?'

"Of course." her mother told her. "After them, you will be free."

Charlotte shrugged. "Maybe I'll floo over to the Greengrass's to meet up with Daphne and Astoria if you don't mind?"

"Not at all." She turned to Harry. "And yourself, Mister Potter?"

Harry had to resist the impulse to answer hastily. "I don't really have a whole lot to finish, so I'll probably spend most of my time reading and studying."

"Admirable," Lady Weitts commended. "We have a family library if such a thing interests you. I only ask that you stay out of the rows nearest the wall opposite the entrance. They contain some rather… heinous magics that you do not need to be aware of as of yet."

Harry had to bite down on his surprise in order to stop it showing on his face. He had expected that the Weitts family would have a family library, but he had certainly not expected, not even in the slightest, to be given access to it. "Thank you, ma'am."

The woman nodded to him. "I'm sure Charlotte can show you there before she begins her lessons."

Ten minutes later, Harry was standing alone, staring in awe up at the towering shelves of books. It had a very different feel from the Hogwarts library. It was… more foreboding. Harry quickly scanned some of the shelves for tomes that might interest him. A very old looking book titled _An Entry to Obscure Curses_ caught his eye. It wasn’t overly close to the forbidden section, so he doubted it contained anything too deadly. Some of the curses certainly seemed — questionable, but he doubted any were outright illegal. He had been going back and forth between that book and one on transfiguration for several hours when Harry heard Grace speak from behind him while he was reading the book on curses.

"Careful of that one." She indicated a curse that would not directly damage, but would greatly weaken a person's skin, making it prone to flaking, cuts, and a whole number of things that were not as pleasant. "It's not exactly legal."

Correction on the nothing illegal assumption.

"I doubt you'll report me," he answered carefully. He felt as if she was testing him.

Harry saw the ghost of a smile flicker on her face. "Hardly." After a moment, she waved her wand, causing a different, far larger book to come floating down to him from a shelf far closer to the forbidden section. The tome was massive. She directed the tome to land in front of Harry.

_The Subtleties of Deception, Detection and Defence._

"You will want to stay near the beginning of this book for now," she warned him. "But I think it has the potential to be… very useful; potentially for you, in particular." She gave him a pointed look. "That entire book is not strictly legal, so I encourage you to be careful with it."

Harry blinked. "Do you mean… I can-"

"Keep it," Grace told him with a nod, eyeing him speculatively. "I would hate to see your enemies strike back at you so soon, Potter, least of all when they are common between us."

Several messages were understood by Harry in the next few seconds. One, Grace knew or at least suspected that he had set up the incident with Malfoy the night previous. Two, she thought Malfoy attempting to strike back at Harry was highly possible, if not outright likely. And three, she herself wanted at Malfoy, potentially for hurting a friend of Daphne's, who may have also been a friend of Charlotte's. However, she couldn’t involve herself directly with first year drama.

In general, the older Slytherins pretty much left well enough alone in terms of the first years. They would enter the fray in more extreme circumstances, but for the most part, they just observed.

Harry nodded, shoving his own book aside and reaching for the new one. "Thanks," he commented off handedly. Grace nodded, though Harry, who had lowered his head over the book in question couldn’t see it. She made her way off for books to use as resources for her essay a moment later, leaving him alone once more.

The book was nothing like anything Harry had ever read or heard about before. It spoke of the concept of wards, something he had never really understood before. He had known they were protection of some sort, but nothing really beyond that. This book explained them in far more detail, but it also seemed to have instructions as to countless different wards. Also, Harry noticed, it had instructions on how to break them. He could see, now, without much issue how and why this book was completely and wholly illegal.

Illegal as it might have been, Harry thought this book would be dead useful, and he intended to put all of the book's contents to good use at some point in the future.

_**November 7, 1991  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
The Seventh Floor  
7:38 PM** _

The next number of days were some of the oddest in Harry's life. The idea of spending his time at a manor was odd enough as it was, and that was before he considered the other four occupants of the home. Not that he interacted with any of them a whole lot. He spent the majority of his time locked up in the Weitts family library, at least while he was not spending time with Daphne. Usually, she came over to Weitts Manor, but Harry had visited her ancestral home twice as well.

He read quite a bit of a few books similar to the one on obscure curses and thought them rather useful. He read some more random tomes as well, and he spent a large amount of time nose deep in the book of wards, detection spells, anti wards, and some other similar magics that Grace had gifted him. It would be difficult for him to manage any of them at the moment, particularly with no knowledge of Ancient Runes, but he thought a proximity ward would likely be a good starting point.

Grace, like Harry, spent much of her time studying, though Harry suspected her own study was as much out of obligation as it was desire. Charlotte spent a fair bit of time at the Greengrasses’, and some with him and Daphne, but she seemed to have morning tutoring sessions with her mother. 

This, Harry noted, was one of the advantages that purebloods and wizarding families, in general, could easily lord over muggleborn and muggle raised witches and wizards. He had read through his book on the Wizengamot and looked for references to the Trace. It was hard to say, as Harry wasn’t really equipped to decode all of the legal jargon involved, but it sounded, at least to him, as though the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot had written that law in a way that they could blatantly ensure their own children could remain ahead. Knowing at least a little bit about the politics that dominated Magical Britain, he suspected they probably had done it for that exact reason.

He respected the cunning on display, but he still harboured a fair bit of resentment on principle.

The students weren’t allowed back at Hogwarts until the next Wednesday, a full six days after the events of Samhain. They weren’t liable for the schoolwork they had all missed, as he found out upon his return to the castle that classes as a whole had been cancelled, but they were absolutely pounded with prep that first day back.

Upon their arrival back at school, one other thing that did not take long to establish itself once more was the house rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Harry had, of course, been mindfully aware of the rivalry since his first day at Hogwarts, but beyond the petty drama with students like Weasley and his brother, it hadn’t really affected him all that much. He hadn’t entered the duel back in September over house rivalries, quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.

Now, with Saturday's Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin fast approaching, the tensions between the two opposing sides were stronger than ever, and the hospital wing very suddenly had quite the large influx of arrivals.

Harry suspected Malfoy would have been directly in the centre of the fray, but the blond Slytherin first year had yet to return to the castle after the incident at the manor. Harry privately thought it had been a rather well-played move on the part of his parents. He was fairly sure that the house would have torn him apart upon his return. If Lord and Lady Malfoy waited, the storm would likely blow over.

That was not to say that Malfoy would get off scot-free, oh no. He was quite sure he would have a rough integration back into the house, but between his family name and older acquaintances, Harry was fairly sure that his plan had actually damaged the senior Malfoys, (who had been on the receiving end of a rather scathing article by a reporter by the name of Rita Skeeter in the _Daily Prophet),_ as much as it had damaged Draco.

He didn’t really care one way or another, if truth was to be toldr. He had accomplished his goal of political sabotage, and if the wider world looked down on Malfoy's family and by extension, him for at least a little bit as a result, all the better, in Harry's opinion.

For all of the supposed morals that Gryffindor House cherished, unfortunately for Harry, he found out that they, unlike Slytherins, had absolutely no qualms of taking advantage of first-year students. He found this out on Thursday night when he’d left for a round of exploration after telling Daphne and Tracey he would be back before curfew. After weeks of this, neither of them batted an eye anymore.

As Harry was examining a rather interesting tapestry on the seventh floor, however, double and triple-checking to assure no secrets were hiding behind it, he hissed in pain as a Stinging Hex caught him in the rear end from behind.

He spun, wand shooting from his holster only to freeze at the sight of four Gryffindors who looked to be at least fourth years.

The one in the lead, a tall, well-muscled boy with short-cropped dirty blond hair, chiselled features and dark-brown eyes just snorted with amusement. All four of them already had their wands drawn and aimed at him. 

The boy in question smirked arrogantly at Harry. This boy reminded him painfully of Dudley, and that fact only made him angrier and more defiant. He was thoroughly covered, so escape was not an option. He had no way of creating a diversion or distraction and knew full well he had no chance against four fourth years. If he was going to be sent to the hospital wing, probably in a rather humiliating manner at that, he was at least going to show these bullies that he had a spine. He would go fighting.

Harry couldn’t help but think how idiotically Gryffindor that sounded. He also realized he didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter, so he just set his jaw and stared the quartet down the best he could.

"What are you going to do, firsty?" the leader asked with the same easy confidence that showed itself in his smirk. "Hit me with a tickling charm?"

His friends laughed, but Harry still did not take a step back. He could feel the tension building. He knew that any second, somebody would cast the first spell and all hell would break loose.

He was half right.

All four of them cast at once.

"Furnunculus!"

"Everte Statum!"

"Mucum Disrumpat!"

"Auge Coma!"

"PROTEGO!"

Harry countered with the first spell that flashed into his mind. He had never actually tested his shield against spell-fire, and the first time he had succeeded with it at all was when he’d used it to stop the troll, but it was the only spell he could think of with a chance of saving him here.

There was a distortion in front of Harry and a split second later, his shield flared as all four spells made impact. The shield collapsed, but it had absorbed all four spells to Harry's shock. The magical backlash of his shield being shattered sent Harry staggering backwards a few steps. Luckily for him, the others were as shocked as he was, so it took a moment before the next spell came; one that opened a nice sized gash on his cheek. He raised his wand, knowing that his effort was in vain but also knowing all too well there was only one way he would accept defeat like this…

"Everte Statum!"

"Lacero!"

"Ozio Fracto!"

"Tormensia!"

Four spells shot past Harry from the opposite direction, something that surprised him far more than his shield holding a moment earlier. The Gryffindors, who were completely caught by surprise, almost all fell at once. The dirty blond in the lead was the only one who didn’t, having blocked the first spell. All three of his friends fell. One had a rather large amount of blood seeping from his leg. Another was on the ground, sobbing and clutching at his wand arm in apparent agony. The fourth was writhing on the floor as if he was being tortured. Vaguely, Harry recognized the last spell as one that Flint had attempted to use against Grace.

The only boy left made to aim at Harry again, a snarl of fury on his lips. Before his spell could get far, a shield shimmered in front of him and absorbed the spell without issue. Suddenly, Harry had a vaguely familiar girl at his side. He had seen her in the common room, but never interacted with her, as she was obviously several years older than him. She was average in height for her age and had a curvaceous figure accented by full, pink lips, soft facial features, golden-blonde hair and dark-blue eyes.

The Gryffindor hesitated.

"Where is that famous Gryffindor bravery, Prichard?" the girl said in a poisonously sweet voice. "What's the matter? Not so eager to duel when your opponent isn't a first year?"

The boy scowled. "There's four of you not including Potter," he dismissed. Harry glanced behind him. There were indeed three others: two girls and a boy, all seeming to be about the same age. The girls were both a couple of inches taller than the one who stood beside Harry, but not overly tall. They were both lean and athletic looking with light-brown hair, sharp features, and dark eyes. Harry noted that they were twins.

Seriously, how many twins were there in this place?

The boy was quite tall and well built. Not quite Crabbe and Goyle kind of brutish, but he was clearly large for his age. He had brown hair that was slicked back and blended well with his hazel eyes. There was a sharpness behind those eyes that Harry did not miss.

"I'll happily take you on alone, Prichard; if you're willing?"

The boy — Prichard, hesitated. "I'll bet you would, Rosier. I'm sure Death Eater Daddy's taught you all kinds of tricks." It was a decent quip, but Harry could tell it was a façade. He was nervous.

"Make one more comment about my Father, Prichard, and I won't leave you with the choice. Either duel me or take your friends and leave."

Prichard seemed to hesitate. Harry could see the exact moment that he backed down and could see the self-hatred flash in the boy's eyes as he helped his friends to their feet and led them off.

'Rosier,' Harry thought, 'Sacred Twenty-Eight — Ancient and Most Noble House — Conservative faction — potential Death Eater ties.'

"Are you all right, Potter?" Rosier asked him, prompting him to blink in surprise. He understood why they had backed him up. House unity was the number one unwritten rule within Slytherin, but he had expected them to leave as soon as the Gryffindors did. Unless they took house unity a bit more seriously than appearances.

"I'm fine, thanks. I'll just need to get this healed, I guess." He indicated the still bleeding cut on his cheek.

"I can fix that if you'll let me," Rosier twirled her wand around her fingers as she spoke.

Harry hesitated. He was not the trusting type, and a Rosier offering help to the halfblood brother of the Boy-Who-Lived screamed of a setup.

"I'm not going to curse you," she promised, her voice softening a margin.

Harry peered at Rosier intently and was sorely tempted to use Legilimency, as he now knew it to be called. In the end, he did not, though when he nodded, he did so extremely reluctantly.

"Come here." She tgestured for him to step a bit closer to her. Again, he hesitated but obeyed. She reached out and slid two cool fingers under his chin to tilt his head up to look at her. Harry tensed, but he resisted, with tremendous difficulty, the urge to flinch away. Rosier's eyebrow rose for a fraction of a second before she gently traced her wand over his cut, healing the wound without issue.

"Non-verbally at that." the older boy commended.

Rosier smiled, evidently proud of the feat. "With the amount I need that spell, I figured it was a good one to work on." She pulled her hand away from Harry's chin and extended it to him, a confident, winning smile on her lips. "A pleasure, Heir Potter. Calypso Rosier, Heiress of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Rosier. My friends," she introduced, gesturing to the three teenagers behind her who crept closer to them, "Flora Carrow and her sister Hestia; Heiress of the Ancient House of Carrow." Both sisters inclined their heads slightly to him, though their faces both remained impartial. "And this not so charming gentleman is Cassius Warrington Jr. Heir of the Ancient House of Warrington."

Harry saw… something flicker across Warrington's face. He thought it had been disgust, an emotion far too deep and real for the light jab, but he could have simply imagined it.

He formally greeted all of them before looking at Rosier. "Uh… thank you. Is-is there any way you would tell me that spell you used to heal my cheek?"

Rosier shrugged. "Seems harmless enough. The incantation is Episkey and there’s no wand movement. Visualise what the process of the thing you want to be fixed would realistically look like and how it would be accomplished if you know what to imagine. If not, you can still pull the spell off, but it's more difficult and takes more power."

'Harry glanced at all four of them. It still baffled him why they had gone to such lengths for a halfblood first year who was related to The-Boy-Who-Lived, but he was hardly going to complain.

"You ought to be more careful the week of a Quidditch match," Warrington warned him quietly.

"I was just exploring. I wasn't expecting to get jumped by Gryffindor…"

"Fourth years," Rosier finished. "Same as the four of us. The one in the lead was Tobias Prichard, but he goes by Tobi and gets rather annoyed at the use of his full name."

Harry nodded, still a bit uncomfortable around these four.

"Well, I've done my part for house unity today," Rosier declared, shooting another smile in Harry's direction, though this one was smaller, more conspiratorial. "Come and sit with us in the common room or at a meal, Potter. We would be interested to hear about some… rumours that have gone around about you. Bring Greengrass, if you like, and Davis if you must." Her voice held no contempt, but Harry did not miss the phrasing, even if she didn’t deny Tracey a spot. In fairness, he supposed that could have been as much due to her house standing as a result of the Malfoy incident as her blood status.

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Rosier. I'll keep it in mind."

_**November <8, 1991  
A Room in The Dungeons  
7:00 PM** _

By the time Friday came around, Harry had completed the mountain of prep they had been tasked with, something that absolutely astounded both Tracey and Daphne. "How far ahead are you?" Daphne had asked him with narrowed eyes.

He had shrugged. "If Weitts was being honest with me about the task involved, I could breeze through the Transfiguration exam. Charms would be doable, but that one will take a little bit of work to perfect."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Harry, it's November! How can you possibly sound disappointed?"

He had merely shrugged her off. That was far easier than explaining his need to outshine his brother and outstrip his father. Those were desires that Daphne, as much as Harry liked her, would not understand. For better or for worse, Daphne had grown up in luxury, with all of her needs essentially catered to since birth. She was the perfect personification of a pureblood princess.

That week's double Potions lesson had surprisingly passed without much issue. It had been Tracey's turn to go with Daphne, so Harry had paired up with Zabini, as was their normal routine by this point. Harry was rather impressed when his potion looked just as good as his friends'. Mind you, the other pair had finished before them, but not by much.

He was happy that he only had morning classes on Friday, as he had been rather distracted all day with the prospect of his "lesson" that night with Professor Hurst. As the day went on, his nerves only mounted, and he was eternally grateful he didn’t have to perform transfigurations while his mind was firmly in other, unrelated places.

When the time had finally come, Harry tested the secret passage that Hurst had mentioned. Even though he had to go completely out of his way to reach that suit of armour, he found it cut the travel time nearly in half. How that worked, he had no idea, but he decided, for now, to chalk it up to magic and move on.

He took a moment to simply stand outside of the door and gather himself before slowly but resolutely, he knocked.

"Enter."

Harry pushed the door open and stepped into the room, instantly pausing in surprise. Apparently, Professor Hurst had seen fit to make some adjustments to the blank room. Several torches now hung from brackets on the walls, and on the wall furthest opposite Harry, there was a line of what appeared to be training dummies.

"I hope you have no objections to the changes in furnishing," she said by way of a greeting.

"No," Harry said reflexively, "of course not. I would have added some stuff too if I knew how."

Hurst eyed him. "You've been using this room fairly often then?"

"Yes," he admitted. "I use it to practice spells and such. I would use it to study with friends if I could, but we would need desks or something."

Hurst's lips twitched. "That could be arranged If your performance is up to par until — say — Christmas?"

Harry blinked. She had given him an incentive, and one he rather wanted to claim. “Thank you, Professor."

She nodded "Now," Hurst told him, "you told me that you wanted to know how to fight, correct?" Harry nodded. "Well, I spoke of foundations in the lessons. Though some of that speech was certainly for dramatic effect, I tend to practice what I preach. We shall start with the basics today: accuracy, proper stance, wand grip. If we get to dodging, even better. You will be practising a great deal of that while we work up to the… finer points." By finer points, Harry thought she meant actual magic.

That first night wasn’t overly taxing magically. They ran through everything she had told him and had him work on his accuracy, which actually didn’t seem half bad. She did, however, correct the way he attacked in general.

"You’re too predictable," she said bluntly, "too readable. Your movements are sloppy and telegraphed."

Harry furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Fire the full-body-bind at the dummy." He obeyed her, quickly drawing out the circular movement and stabbing his wand towards the target. "There," she indicated, "tighten your wand movement. If the circle is smaller, it is still a circle, and therefore satisfies the temporary necessity for the wand movement. When you stab your wand towards the dummy, wait until the last possible second; the same goes for any spell. You are aiming and then firing. Only point your wand at the target at the last possible second, thereby giving them as little opportunity as possible to react."

Harry couldn’t fault that logic. "Yes ma'am. I understand."

"Good. Now, let us see it in practice."

__**November 9, 1991**  
The Great Hall  
8:06 AM ____

__The tension in the Great Hall was greater than any Harry had ever experienced when he, Tracey and Daphne entered it the morning of Slytherin's first match of the season against Gryffindor. Harry's eyes quickly darted towards the Gryffindor table. Charlus was sitting with the rest of the Quidditch team. He was looking down at the porridge in front of him, appearing to be rather pale and more than a little bit nervous._ _

__"I think my dear brother is feeling the pressure," Harry noted absentmindedly, drawing the attention of his two friends onto his brother._ _

__Daphne's lips twitched and Tracey giggled. "He looks like he might throw up!"_ _

__Harry sighed dramatically. "Don't get my hopes up, Tracey."_ _

__"Do you really not like him that much?" she asked._ _

__Harry shrugged. "I actually don’t care about him one way or the other, but it would knock the arrogant prat down a peg or two."_ _

__"Too true," Daphne agreed in a voice full of longing. When she made to take a seat at the end of the table, Harry caught her eye and subtly jerked his head to a place quite a way further up said table. Quite close to the middle, actually. Closer, as a matter of fact, than Malfoy and his group of friends sat before he was removed. Daphne's eyes widened and Tracey seemed as if she would ask something, but Daphne elbowed her subtly and the two of them followed Harry to a few empty seats near Rosier, Warrington, and the Carrow twins._ _

__The conversation around them died instantly. Harry could have taken them up on their offer the day before, but he hadn’t. He knew that if he did it the morning of the Quidditch match when everybody would be in the hall, it would make more of an impact. If people saw his alliance with four fourth year students who seemed to be regarded quite highly, they would probably get the hint that he was more than Charlus Potter's twin brother._ _

__By the completely blank, completely indifferent mask worn by Daphne at present, Harry figured she at least knew exactly what was going on, if not the backstory behind it._ _

__"Good morning Potter, Greengrass, Davis." Rosier greeted as the three first years took the seats nearest them._ _

__"Good morning, Heiresses Rosier and Carrow. You as well, Heir Warrington, Miss Carrow." Harry reciprocated. "My two friends,” he introduced, “Heiresses Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis."_ _

__The two girls received a smile from Rosier and nods from the other three. Warrington looked rather twitchy._ _

__"Are you on the team?" Harry asked him, eyes narrowing._ _

__Warrington nodded. "Was on it last year too. Chaser."_ _

__"Any idea what the Gryffindor team is looking like?"_ _

__"Their keeper is a mad man, but actually quite good. Their beaters are terrors, both on and off the pitch. Not sure about their chasers. Johnson was the only one on the team last year. She was decent, I suppose. And then there’s your Brother."_ _

__"Wasn't… Higgs the seeker for Slytherin?"_ _

__Warrington sighed and closed his eyes. For a minute, Harry had thought he had gone too far, but the boy was answering a moment later. "Yeah, he was. Decent seeker. Nothing special, but decent."_ _

__"What happens now?"_ _

__"We're using David Makehay. He's a third year who came out for chaser and got picked up as a reserve." Warrington scowled. "He is no seeker, but he is a decent enough flyer that if your brother is useless, he'll be able to nab the snitch."_ _

__"You don't sound that confident," Daphne observed cautiously._ _

__Warrington shrugged. "In the team, I'm plenty confident. In Makehay, not as much."_ _

__"Just make sure you're a hundred and fifty points up," Hestia Carrow instructed, identifiable from her sister by the heiress ring on her finger. "Can't be that hard."_ _

__Warrington snorted. "I'd love to see you try and throw a quaffle, Carrow, let alone score fifteen times."_ _

__"My apologies for not wasting my time on a completely useless sport." she retorted sharply. Warrington made to bite back, but Rosier cut him off._ _

__"Yes, yes; Quidditch is a perfectly noble pursuit of your time and all of that. We've heard it a million times, Cassius." Warrington mock glared at her but did not have the patience to do much more than that._ _

__They didn’t talk much as they waited in the hall. Rosier asked Harry and Daphne questions here and there. She never really asked Tracey anything, but she had no objections to Tracey cutting into the conversation, as long as it was tactful. Tracey was unusually restrained today, seeming to have made an effort to be on her best behaviour. Harry appreciated it greatly._ _

__Finally, the Gryffindor team got to their feet to thunderous applause from the Lions, Badgers, and about half of the 'claws. Charlus's legs appeared to be shaking, and Harry smirked. Evidently, Daphne saw them too because she smirked back at him. The applause for the Slytherins was more restrained, though Harry was quite proud that at least his house had the dignity not to boo the opposing team before they even left the hall._ _

__Fifteen minutes later, Harry, Daphne and Tracey had gotten themselves seats and were watching intently as the players, each one being announced by Lee Jordan shot out onto the pitch. Harry rolled his eyes at Charlus's grandiose introduction and even more so at the tidal wave of applause that accompanied it. Wizards seemed to have done a lot of idiotic things over the years, though making a messiah out of a child was up there._ _

__The match started off simply enough, if a bit brutally, but Harry could not help but be entranced by the game. He actually found himself envying Charlus for a moment before he ruthlessly squashed the emotion. That was a rabbit hole he did not need to go down. Slytherin was good, but Gryffindor was clearly better coordinated as a team. They struck early, making it 10-0. There was a moment of nearly unbearable tension when Charlus dove for the snitch, but Harry cheered passionately along with the rest of his House when Flint fouled him hard. Johnson scored the penalty, but Harry would much rather Gryffindor double their lead then win the game._ _

__A few minutes later, Harry heard a gasp and looked up, only to frown in confusion. "Daphne, I doubt you're a Quidditch fan, by any means, but can you explain to me what the hell my brother is doing?" Charlus seemed to be jolting up and down swiftly, almost as if his broom was a bucking bull._ _

__Daphne looked up and frowned too. "That's odd. Maybe he's just incompetent?"_ _

__Harry shook his head. "I doubt it. Father seemed quite the Quidditch fanatic. I doubt this is Charlus's first time around the block. Plus," he added with grudging respect, "nobody incompetent can make a catch like-" but he trailed off when Charlus's broom gave a particularly horrifying lurch and he nearly fell. Whatever Harry thought about his brother, he didn’t want him to die._ _

__"It's his broom!" squealed Tracey. "Look! It's not going where he's leaning at all!" True to her word, Charlus was visibly trying to counter-steer the broom to no avail._ _

__"Is it possible to curse a broom?" he asked._ _

__Daphne shrugged, trying to hide her concern. "It's possible to curse just about anything, but it would be extremely difficult to curse a Nimbus 2000, I'd think."_ _

__It had to be one of the teachers then._ _

__Harry, completely ignoring Flint, who was taking it upon himself to score multiple times while nobody was paying attention, directed his omnioculars towards the teachers’ section. Sure enough, he saw not one, but two teachers looking intently at Charlus and muttering._ _

__Snape, and, to Harry's surprise, Sinistra, their Astronomy professor._ _

__Neither of these options seemed overly likely to Harry. Snape hated his brother, that much was true, but it was also way too obvious if Snape did it. Plus, he thought if Snape were to kill Charlus, he would assure the body was never found, let alone seen. On the other hand, Sinistra had absolutely zero motivation to murder Charlus and if Harry was being honest, he wouldn’t have thought her capable of it._ _

__Something on the edges of the scene caught his attention. Harry saw a figure moving hurriedly towards Snape. A second later, Harry recognized a head of bushy, brown hair, and widened his eyes as he realized that it was Granger, of all people. On the way to Snape, she ploughed through Sinistra, who didn’t even seem to realize Granger was coming at all. Harry had to suppress a manic laugh as Snape's robes were suddenly lit with what he recognized to be bluebell flames._ _

__He would have to send her flowers._ _

__He directed his eyes back up to the sky, where Charlus was flying normally once again._ _

__Whatever his twin's drawbacks, Harry was happy for his survival, even if it did mean Slytherin quickly lost the match due to a rather dramatic catch on Charlus's part. The one thing that bothered Harry was that, in being too caught up watching Granger light his Head of House on fire, he had not looked up after Sinistra had been knocked forward._ _

__He had no idea which of them was the guilty party._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A bit of a different scene than what I’m sure many of you were expecting in terms of the match. Some of you have doubtlessly figured out what is going on here. For those who haven’t, without spoiling anything, I would advise you not to extrapolate this too far onto other scenes and plots to try and answer some other burning questions.**
> 
> **It should be noted that I have not made any mistakes with the Priori Incantato scene. I am aware that canonically, it should have shown the AK performed by Hurst in the last chapter. There is a plausible reason it didn’t, which will be revealed in year 1's final chapter.**
> 
> **Also, in the books, it’s not said exactly how old the Carrow twins are. They are, at most, a year older than Harry, as they are at Hogwarts in HBP. Obviously, I have decided to change that, but I figured I would point that out before anybody attempted to correct me on it.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **This chapter was revised on October 11th, 2020 with the help of Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	13. Developments and Destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my beta Umar for his work on this story. Additionally, a massive thank you is extended to Fezzik. She became a beta for me at a later date and has graciously agreed to assist me in revising these early chapters.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
> 
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_**November 9, 1991  
The Grounds of Hogwarts  
12:28 PM** _

The moments that followed what Charlus considered to be a rather impressive catch of the snitch were a blur of motion and chaos. He remembered being hoisted onto the shoulders of his teammates, remembered being swarmed by the near entirety of Gryffindor and even remembered catching his brother's eye as he was making his way out of the stadium. The brothers only shared a brief nod, but to Charlus, that may have been as valuable as any congratulations. His bubble of euphoria didn’t remain intact for long, as he and Ron quickly began to make their way towards Hagrid, only to find him standing in the doorway of his hut and arguing with an irate looking Hermione Granger.

"I'm tellin' ya," Hagrid was saying, "Snape's a teacher, Hermione, he would never-"

"I saw him, Hagrid!" Granger bit back, and Charlus nearly flinched at the heat in her voice. The movement caught Hagrid's attention, and he smiled a rather relieved looking smile in their general direction.

"All right there Charlus, Ron? Care for a cup o' tea?"

"Yes please!" Charlus answered quickly, running a hand through his still windswept hair that was now somehow even messier than usual.

Ron cleared his throat as they entered the hut with a look towards Hermione. Charlus shrugged, indicating that he had no more idea of what was going on here than Ron did.

"Tha' was sum match, eh?" Hagrid asked them as he bustled around his teapot. "The Slytherins were all o’er yehs."

Charlus scowled. "I'd have had the snitch a lot earlier if Flint didn't decide to be a wanker about it."

"It was a good block though," Ron admitted grudgingly. "Bloody dirty, but a good block." He turned to Hagrid. "Do you reckon that's what messed with Charlus's broom, Hagrid?"

"Nah, no bump like tha' could hur’ a Nimbus 2000. Usually only dark curses ‘n such could do some'in like that."

"Mmhm," Hermione said rather smugly.

Ron, who was not an overly patient person in the best of times, turned to Hermione. "I… err… don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?"

Hermione quickly bristled, and Charlus could practically see her reflexively revert to a defensive posture. "I was trying to tell you two why Charlus's broom made an attempt to kill him, but if you would rather I didn't-"

"No," Charlus cut in quickly, eyeing Granger up and down. She was a lot of things. She was annoying at times and overbearing constantly, but Charlus didn’t really dislike her. He could admit, if nothing else, she was brilliant. "What do you think happened?"

Hermione stuck up her chin, suddenly looking to Charlus a lot more like a pureblood heiress than a newly discovered muggleborn. "I don't THINK anything! I KNOW what happened!" Hagrid grunted; apparently, they were drawing awfully close to the topic of whatever argument the two of them had been having before Charlus and Ron had arrived. "It was Professor Snape! He was cursing your broom; I saw him!"

Charlus's eyes widened as his jaw fell open. Beside him, Ron had much the same reaction, as both of them just stared at Hermione, aghast.

"You're… uh… sure?" Ron asked, sounding sceptical.

Hermione huffed. "Of course I'm sure! I've read all about curses, you see, and one of the characteristics of curses like that — from far away, I mean, is that the person doing the cursing has to maintain eye contact the entire time." She looked pointedly from Ron, to Charlus to Hagrid. "I was watching Professor Snape with the Omnioculars, and he was looking at you the entire time, Charlus. He didn't break eye contact once, and he was muttering under his breath."

"Why would Professor Snape try 'n kill Charlus?" Hagrid snorted. "I'm sorry Hermione, but tha's ridiculous!"

"He and Dad hated each other," Charlus said thoughtfully, dread and realization suddenly spreading through his veins. "Dad said — well, he never explained it, but he said he was sure Snape would do him in if he could. I think something major happened in their school days. Something more than them just hating each other, I mean."

"Professor Snape wouldn't curse yer broom!" Hagrid argued defiantly. "What Hermione must o' saw was Professor Snape mutterin' the coun'er-curse!"

"Hagrid, I've told you this already! When I saw that Snape was cursing your broom," she said, turning to look at Charlus, "I went over to stop him. I… um… used bluebell flames on his robes. As soon as I did that, he looked away from you, and your broom was fine."

There was suddenly a deafening kind of silence in every square inch of the small hut. Normally, Charlus would have laughed openly at the idea of Snape with his robes alight. At the moment, with everything else weighing so heavily in the air, he couldn’t find the humour within himself. Neither, apparently, could Ron, who sat as stone still as one may expect from a thousand-year-old statue.

Charlus was gaping at Hermione again. "You… you saved me?"

Hermione looked back at him, seemingly just as confused. "Of course I saved you! I wasn't just about to let you die!"

Charlus nodded mutely before turning to Hagrid. "She's right, Hagrid. It must have been Snape. He has a reason to do it, and she's right about curses; I've been studying that stuff for ages. It had to have been Snape, there's no other solution."

"I bet he let the troll in, too!" Ron said, sounding positively gleeful.

Charlus nodded. "Yeah… yesterday — his leg. You reckon?" he asked, remembering Snape's horribly mangled leg in the staff room.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do actually."

"He probably tried to steal whatever that three-headed-dog is guarding." It wasn’t until the words had already left Charlus's lips did he realize what a mistake they had been.

"Three-headed what?!" Hermione shrieked in horror, clasping her hands over her mouth.

"How did ya find out about Fluffy?" Hagrid asked, looking every bit as surprised as Hermione.

"Fluffy!" Charlus heard Ron mutter.

"I… uh… we… uh, had a bit of an… accident." He looked at Hermione with a gleam in his eye. "That's what's in the third-floor corridor that Professor Dumbledore warned us about. It's guarding something — standing on a trapdoor — some kind of stone, we think?"

"Some kind of… stone?" Hermione asked, blinking back her obvious shock and confusion. "What kind of stone would be worth stealing in the first place? Let alone hiding it behind a Cerberus?"

They all looked at Hagrid, but he just glared back at them angrily. "You lot stay away from Fluffy and tha’ corridor, ya hear? What Fluffy's guardin' ain't none o' your concern. Tha's between Professor Dumbledore ‘n Nicholas Flamel." Then he froze, a horror-struck look crossing his gigantic face as he realized what he had said.

"So there's somebody named Nicholas Flamel involved!" Hermione noted victoriously.

"I should not o' said that," Hagrid muttered ashamedly. "I definitely should not o' said that."

"Well," Hermione said briskly, "I'm off to the library to research magical stones and Nicholas Flamel." She looked at Ron and Charlus. "You could… help me if you wanted?" The statement sounded more like a question to Charlus, and the brilliant muggleborn that carried herself with so much confidence in lessons suddenly seemed terribly uncertain of herself.

"Yeah," he answered, smiling his most winning smile at her to try and put her at ease, "yeah, I think we will. What do you say, Ron?" Ron nodded eagerly. "We'll be up in a bit," Charlus said, gesturing for her to go. "Hermione… uh, thanks for… you know? Umm, saving my life and all."

Hermione smiled, holding out a shaking hand. "That's what friends are for, right?"

Charlus beamed at her and took the hand firmly, the way his father had told him to shake hands from an early age. "You bet!"

_**Later that night, in the Slytherin common toom** _

Harry, Tracey and Daphne had occupied the abandoned room in which Harry practised with Professor Hurst for much of the day. Harry had told them what he’d seen and the two of them seemed hell-bent on debating. Tracey thought Snape was the culprit, where Daphne was certain it was Sinistra.

"Snape would never do something like that out in the open, Tracey!" Daphne had argued exasperatedly.

"Don't you see it, Daphne? That's the brilliance of it! The only people smart enough to punish Snape would be the people with the power to do it. But, like you just said, they'd never blame Snape because they'd think it's too obvious. Besides," she scoffed, "why would Professor Sinistra kill Charlus?"

"It is too obvious, Tracey — that's the point! Any plan that relies on other people's intelligence is a bad one and how am I supposed to know? There's strength in anonymity; maybe she's not Sinistra at all. Maybe she's under Polyjuice potion or something-"

"Poly what?" Harry asked absentmindedly, pausing his quill. He was not overly interested in this debate, so he had chosen to write an essay instead.

"Polyjuice Potion," Daphne said shortly. "It's a potion that lets you basically transform into somebody else. You just need a bit of their hair or any bodily piece; toenails, eyelashes, flaked off skin. Most use hair to add to the potion. Oh, plus you need to be sure that they are most definitely human."

That seemed way too easy to abuse but as Daphne enlightened a minute or so later, possession of it was illegal. Not to mention both the potion and its ingredients costed a fortune. Most people were simply priced out by default.

By the time the three of them returned to the Slytherin common room that night after dinner, their argument had still not blown itself out, but Harry found himself more interested in a different kind of mystery.

When the students had returned to Hogwarts earlier in the week, it had been announced that Terence Higgs had died in a tragic run-in with the troll. Harry hadn’t really thought on the matter until Higgs's name came up that morning in conversation with the older Slytherins. But come to think of it, he had been face to face with the troll, as a matter of speaking, and he was pretty certain it hadn’t killed Higgs. Trolls tended to make a mess of their victims, and there hadn’t been a trace of blood anywhere to be found. 

So, as Harry spotted a girl with shiny, black hair scribbling away at an essay in the corner alone, he casually stood from his seat and made his way towards her. Daphne and Tracey were so entrenched in their own whispered debate that they didn’t even notice the movement.

"Good evening, Heiress Parkinson." Harry said politely, calmly sliding into the seat beside her after whispering "Muffliato" to make sure they would not be overheard.

Her quill did not stop scratching. "Potter."

“You've been sitting alone a lot since Samhain." Both of them knew that was because Malfoy was not at Hogwarts, but neither of them said it.

"I fail to see why that's any of your business."

"I'm only being polite, Parkinson."

Finally, her quill stopped writing and Pansy focused her brown-eyed stare upon him. "No, you're not," she told him with crossed arms. "You want something from me, so get to the point."

Harry couldn’t help but notice the way she seemed to try and dismiss him. It was both extremely irritating and mildly amusing. In the end, he decided to show the former with a twitch of his lips. "Blood matters, Parkinson, but ability matters more. Do you know who said that?"

She glared at him for ignoring her queue to get to the point. "I don't know, Dumbledore?"

"Hardly. It's probably been spoken by a lot of people, but it's most famous user was Gellert Grindelwald." Parkinson's eyes widened a fraction. "Between the two of us, I tend to agree with that line. My point," he continued, "beyond the fact that you shouldn't underestimate me because of blood, is that you shouldn't assume anything about people or things you know nothing about.”

Her look still wasn’t complimentary, but it had cooled a margin. "Fine." she conceded. "Now, what is it you want? I doubt you're enough of an idiot to think you could change my opinion over the course of a conversation."

Harry snorted. "No, that would probably be my Brother." He leaned towards her. "I have it on good authority you're pretty tuned in to what goes on in the castle?"

Translation, nobody, perhaps not even any of the upper years were more in tune with the Hogwarts rumour mill than Pansy Parkinson. If anybody could sort out the truth about something, it was her.

"And if I am, what good is it to you?"

"I guess that depends on whether or not you're willing to do me a favour.”

Pansy looked at him with the appearance of someone seeing him for what he was at long last. "What do I get out of it?" she asked him curiously. "If you need help with it, it would probably take up a lot of my time.”

Harry nodded reasonably. "What would you like out of it?"

"I have three conditions," Parkinson said curtly.

"Which are?"

"You leave me out of any spat between you and Malfoy."

"That can be easily arranged."

She hesitated. "If I… see you and your group of friends as the more advantageous party, you will grant me entry into the circle."

Harry raised an eyebrow. It was clever, but there was a whole in her logic. "Why would you assume I can make that promise? Daphne outranks me politically."

She smiled knowingly at him. "Let's just call it a gut feeling and go from there, shall we?"

Harry shrugged. He figured it wouldn't be all that hard to meet her demand whether her assumption was correct or not. "Done."

"Final condition; I want a favour at a later date."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he thought rapidly. "Nothing that could be used against me, my friends or my family in any way, shape or form."

For a second, Parkinson's eyes flashed but then she smiled. "I've underestimated you again, Potter," she admitted casually. "I'm impressed. That sounds perfectly agreeable to me."

"Then we have ourselves a deal." He leant forward, his eyes taking on a faint glow that put Pansy immediately on edge. "If you could find out, Parkinson, I would like to know what really happened to Terence Higgs."

_**November 29, 1991  
A Room in the Dungeons  
7:00 PM** _

Mercifully, the weeks after the fiasco that had been the opening Quidditch match of the season decided to give Harry a mild reprieve, something he was immeasurably grateful for after Samhain and its aftermath. He had managed to get Calypso, who had asked to be called by her first name, to tell him what the end of year examinations entailed for the first years. He’d wanted to cross-reference with what Grace had told him, to be sure that it didn’t change with the year. It didn’t. He had, as a result, been making sure that he could not only perform the tasks perfectly, but he had been coming up with impressive ways he could top them in order to earn the O+'s that he was looking for.

An O was not overly rare at Hogwarts. Usually, most subjects had a couple of Os at least given out within each year set. Defence, Potions and Transfiguration were the notable exceptions, where it was rather difficult to achieve an O, but it was still rather rare that a year passed with nobody in the year set managing an outstanding. On the other hand, an O+ was extremely rare.

Harry had found this out while scouring the old records kept in the library. It turned out that his grandfather, Charlus Potter Sr. had been one of two students who had the honour of saying they were the first of the century to pull it off. He had managed to achieve an O+ in Defence Against the Dark Arts in 1939, during his fourth year; a feat he repeated in the subject each year until his graduation. He’d even earned the grade in Transfiguration during his last three years at Hogwarts, making him one of only a handful of students in history to receive the mark in multiple grades on the O.W.L and N.E.W.T exams.

The other student, however, interested Harry just as much, if not more than his grandfather. Though she didn’t have a name like Potter behind her, a student by the name of Emily Riddle had proven in her first year, (the same calendar year as Charlus's fourth) that she was a prodigy among prodigies. In her first year, Riddle achieved the grade of O+ in Charms, Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts, a feat that had never been done before. The first year joint record for O+s had been two. 

Most recently before Riddle had come around, it had been achieved by Albus Dumbledore in 1893, when he earned the mark in Charms and Transfiguration. Before him, Emeric Emalaus was the most recent, having managed O+s in Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts in 1402. The only other student in history to earn two O+s was a part of Hogwarts' first ever school year when Myrddin Emrys, (the man who would later be known as Merlin) achieved it in Charms and Transfiguration.

Riddle had outperformed even him with her three O+s, a feat she equalled the next year. By the end of her third, she had added Transfiguration. On her O.W.Ls she had achieved O+s in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions and Transfiguration. That had broken the previous record of Albus Dumbledore, who had managed it in Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Transfiguration. She edged him on N.E.W.Ts as well. They both managed all the marks they had in their O.W.Ls, and each of them had received an O+ in Alchemy; a class for N.E.W.T students that was no longer offered.

Harry had gone down a bit of a rabbit hole searching for Riddle's accomplishments after Hogwarts. There honestly wasn’t a lot. She had apparently been a key player in one of the final battles of the Blood War. According to the records, she’d held off Grindelwald personally during The Battle of Katalysator until she and Dumbledore together had driven him off. After that, there hadn’t been a mention of her in any avenue he had tried.

In large part thanks to his memory, Harry did manage to connect her name with a mystery that had been pressing at the back of his mind for months now.

_**"Silence!"** _

_Somehow, this hiss sounded more powerful than the rest. It was, if such a thing was possible at all in the language of snakes, a rather authoritative statement. Slowly but surely, all the snakes depicted around Harry fell silent and one of the largest snakes Harry had seen slithered its way into the painting directly in front of him._

_A black mamba!_

_The snake was, contrary to what many may believe by its name, a dark, greyish-brown colour, though its belly was noticeably pale, especially in contrast with the rest of its body. Though Harry could not see inside the creature's mouth at present, he knew that if he could, he would see an odd, inky-black coloured maw. It was, as a matter of fact, the reason the snake had been given its name at all._

_The snake surveyed him with dark, black eyes; eyes that were surrounded in a pale, yellow colour. **"You speak?"** the snake hissed. Harry almost jumped when he realized that he was the one being addressed._

_**“Not a great question considering I could technically speak English and you’d never understand me, but I know what you’re getting at. And yes, I speak.”** _

_Harry could have sworn the snake sneered at him. **"With a bit too much cheek for my liking, but it does indeed appear that you speak."** The snake surveyed him more critically, seeming to be sizing him up. If the serpent in front of him was not confined to a portrait, Harry very much doubted he wouldn’t have already fled. **"What is your name, human?"**_

_**"Harry."** he hissed back, having to put less thought into the language the more he used it. **'Harry Potter."**_

_**"Potter, you say?"** hissed back the Mamba. **"We have never spoken to any with that name, though it has been many years since we spoke to any at all."**_

_**"How long ago?"** Harry asked._

_**"Time is difficult, immaterial to portraits, and you humans think about it more than us snakes. I do not know how long it has been, but it has been a long time."** _

_**"Can you tell me who the last one was to speak to you?"** _

_**"She did not give us the first name as you have done. Her surname was unique as well. We had never heard it before her arrival."** _

_**"What was it?"** _

_**"Riddle."** _

Well, he supposed that question had been answered, at least.

He supposed it was possible that Emily had not been the only Riddle to attend Hogwarts. At the same time, she fit the description perfectly and had been a prodigious Slytherin student. It all lined up too well.

Except for the fact that if anything, her Parseltongue ability only made it all the more strange that she had not ascended to admirable heights after Hogwarts.

'Unless she left the country?'

Harry supposed that it was possible if the stigma about Parseltongue had truly been that bad fifty years ago. Either way, he decided he really couldn’t solve the mystery one way or another, at least not to completion, so he let it drop.

As for the grade of O+, it had only been achieved by nine other students this century. Minerva McGonagall had earned the grade throughout most of her Hogwarts career in the late 1940s and early 1950s, a feat matched by another student in a similar time frame. Sigmund Lockhart had earned the grade in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts throughout his Hogwarts tenure proceeding his third year in the mid to late 1940s. Alastor Moody had received it several times during the 1950s in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Bellatrix Black had done the same in the mid to late 1960s.

In the 1970s, four Hogwarts students had achieved the grade. Coincidentally, two of them happened to be Harry's parents. His mother had done it in Charms and his father in Transfiguration. Bartemius Crouch Jr. had achieved the mark from his fourth year onwards in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he had also managed the grade in Transfiguration and Potions on his O.W.L exams. He had not replicated that feat exactly on his N.E.W.Ts. Instead, he managed it in Defence, Transfiguration and Charms. The other, just as odd to think about, in Harry's opinion, was Snape; who had achieved the mark every year in Potions and had also pulled it off in Defence during his last three years at Hogwarts.

Since the graduation of Harry's parents and Potions professor, Hogwarts hadn’t seen the grade recently with one exception. Grace had managed it from her second year onwards in Charms. To achieve an O+, one not only had to perfect the exam itself at the end of the year, but perform a personal showcase during it that went above and beyond the scope of the examination itself. Even then, it was still at the discretion of the professor whether or not they granted the exceptional grade to the student. Harry was determined to add his own name to that illustrious and prestigious list.

He was certain he could do it in Transfiguration, as he already had something planned after reading through much of the second-year material in the last number of weeks. Charms would be more difficult, and he had no ideas as of yet, but he was sure he would come up with something. Defence too, he thought was possible, but he had no idea what he could do, and he figured Hurst would be a brutal marker.

Speaking of Hurst, they had gone through two lessons in the weeks following the Quidditch match. The first had been much like the week previous, with an emphasis on stance, accuracy and dodging. The next week had been a bit of that too, but Hurst had also gone over a variety of situations, explaining what kind of spell would be apt in each and why. Harry had found that rather interesting. She had also asked him for a list of all of the spells he knew that he thought would be useful in combat. Now, as Harry knocked on the door to enter his fourth session with Hurst, he awaited her verdict and was interested to see what they would do that night.

After entering on Hurst's command, Harry quickly took a seat on one of the two chairs his professor conjured from thin air with a wave of her wand.

"I was impressed," she told him. "Frankly, I doubt any first year has your repertoire of spells at the moment, but it is still limited enough that you would struggle against any with more diverse attacks." She eyed him critically. "The Protego shield did admittedly jump off the page for me. Are you simply aware of the spell, or can you actually cast it?"

"I can cast it." Harry was trying hard not to smile as he saw surprise briefly flash in her eyes. He was still rather proud of that accomplishment, and privately, he thought himself perfectly justified seeing as it was a fifth year spell.

"Show me," she ordered, getting to her feet and drawing her wand. Harry stood and raised his own wand in a defensive position. Without warning, his professor sent a Stinging Hex towards him at high speed, but he managed to snap off his shield in time. Hurst examined it for a few moments before nodding in approval. "It is not perfect. It will take more practice to increase its potency, but it is remarkable you can cast one at all, let alone with such admirable proficiency." She smiled thinly. "Tonight, we are going to see if we can add a tool or two to your offensive arsenal, as well as continuing to shore up your defence. A strong defence is essential, but it will only delay the inevitable if you are incompetent in regards to attacking."

Harry struggled to keep the grin off of his face. He managed, but barely.

"We will start on the defensive," Hurst decided, "since the spell I have in mind is less difficult to cast. The spell is called the Impediment Jinx, and the incantation is Impedimenta. There is no necessary wand movement. The effect of the spell is to slow the path of an object or living being for five to ten seconds. Just focus on that intent while casting the spell. Once you become familiar enough with it, you won’t need to think it all."

"I was wondering about that. Spells like Wingardium Leviosa and Tempus. When I first started with them, I needed to visualize the effects of them but now, I can do them without a thought. Just the incantation is enough."

"To say magic is a muscle is extremely oversimplified and cliché, but it does summarize the general idea. Your magic is linked to you as a human being, even though we have no magic within us. The more you cast a spell, the more you will gain an affinity towards that spell. Wizards like our Headmaster would need to think barely, if at all." Harry nodded; it made sense. "Now," said Hurst, waving her wand and conjuring a dog from nowhere, "you will test the spell on the dog, as a stationary dummy will not grant you the desired effect."

Harry practised with the impediment jinx for a while. He got the spell quickly, but the dog only paused for a couple of seconds. By the end of his practice, he had managed to consistently freeze it for ten seconds, and the spell was already becoming near automatic.

"Now," Hurst told him with an odd gleam in her eye, "let us try something a little bit more… offensive." She whipped her wand towards the dummy, which was charmed to react to spell-fire as a human would.

"Impulsum."

A jet of purple light streaked from her wand and smashed hard into the target's chest. The dummy collapsed to its knees and promptly curled in on itself.

Harry's eyes gleamed. Now this would be useful magic in combat.

"The Bludgeoning Curse." Hurst enlightened him. "It is an impact based spell that will drive a considerable amount of force into your opponent. Know that the range of impact is about the size of a football, so aim with that in mind. You've heard the incantation already, and the wand movement is a sharp jab towards your target."

The Bludgeoning Curse was indeed much more difficult than the impediment jinx. His professor told him not to be discouraged, as it was a fourth year spell in the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum. Yet by the end of the lesson, Harry had no reason to be discouraged, as he could consistently cast the spell. Unfortunately, it still required a great deal of focus and concentration.

"This has been excellent!" Hurst told him with a genuine smile. It was rare she complimented him so freely and openly. "Impressive, extremely impressive indeed. For obvious reasons, I do not want you practising the Bludgeoning Curse on other students, but keep the visualisation in mind over the next week. We shall begin our next session with a quick run-through of the spells you have learned tonight."

Harry nodded, unable to keep the wide smile off of his own face. "Yes ma'am. Thank you, Professor."

_**December 9, 1991  
The Library  
8:06 PM** _

Charlus, Ron and Hermione all sat back in their chairs, deciding as one to take a break from their still fruitless search for Nicholas Flamel.

Over the past number of weeks, much of Gryffindor house had noticed how suddenly, the inseparable duo of Charlus Potter and Ron Weasley had added a third, rather unlikely member in Hermione Granger. At first, many had been curious. After countless deflections from the three new friends, the house had uniformly decided it was best to leave them alone. 

That was something that relieved the three of them greatly, even Charlus, who rather enjoyed being the centre of attention. After all, some things just didn’t lend themselves well to being explained. In Charlus's opinion, chief among them was the fact that, after having your life saved by somebody and then spending hours on end with them going over research and conspiracy theories, you just naturally became rather close with them rather fast.

"If you're not going home for the holiday," Hermione was saying to Charlus, knowing full well he wasn’t, since he had signed his name on the list of those staying behind for Yule when Professor McGonagall had brought it to the Gryffindor table that morning at breakfast, "then I still say you should owl your Dad. He doesn't really seem like the type to keep information from you."

"We've been over this, Hermione," Charlus said tiredly, rubbing at his temples. "Dad's usually not that kind of person, but he's been right uptight about this whole thing. When I mailed him about the dog ages ago, I got the most to the point, the most formal letter I've ever seen him send. He just told me to stay out of it, and that Dumbledore knew what he was doing."

"Course he does," said Ron through a yawn, "he's Dumbledore, isn't he?"

"It does seem very irresponsible to put something like that in a school," Hermione said sourly. "Whatever he's hiding must be really valuable if he would risk that. Are you sure you couldn't just ask your Dad about Nicholas Flamel? I mean — be subtle, of course."

Charlus shook his head. "He'd know what I was getting at; he's not stupid. He got into all sorts of mischief at Hogwarts. For him, it wouldn't be that far of a stretch to imagine that I'd figured that bit out. No, Hermione, sorry, but I can't ask him."

She deflated a bit, but nodded her head in understanding.

"I could maybe ask Percy or something.” Ron didn't sound overly fond of the idea.

"You think he would be suspicious?"

"Definitely," Ron answered darkly. "Percy always thinks he's smarter than everyone. If I suddenly just started asking stuff like that, he'd get suspicious. He'd make me tell him why I wanted to know."

They all fell silent.

Charlus would have had no problem finding the information in the Potter library. Unfortunately, he had chosen to stay over the break for Yule. Ron's mum, dad and younger sister were going to visit his older brother Charlie in Romania. Charlus didn’t want to leave his best mate alone at the castle. Plus, he thought it would be interesting to be here when the castle was so empty. They could explore, enjoy the grounds and revel in the overall magic of the place.

"Well, I'll have a look in my Flourish and Blotts catalogue over the break." Hermione decided. "Maybe I'll find something in there that mentions Flamel."

"Might as well," Charlus answered as his eyes once more flickered over towards the restricted section. The more he looked at it, the more he just had a gut feeling that the out of bounds section of the library contained the exact information that they were looking for.

"Charlus?" Hermione asked a few minutes later, breaking a long but comfortable silence.

"Mmhm?"

"Do… do you know if your Brother is going home for Yule?"

"He's not," Charlus answered neutrally. "When Dad mailed me back saying he was fine with me staying, he said that Harry had decided to stay for the break too and told me that I wasn't to antagonize him for it or anything."

"He's been… uh… all right since the duel."

Charlus sighed. "I've told you, Ron, I think the only reason he came to the duel at all was to watch Malfoy get his arse handed to him." 

Ron shrugged. "If you say so."

"Honestly Ron, just because he's in Slytherin doesn't make him evil!" Hermione huffed.

Ron shrugged again. "They don't have a great track record though, do they?" he asked darkly. "I'm not saying he's gonna go dark or anything, but he does hang out with them."

"Only Greengrass and some other girl, really.” Despite the statement, Charlus sounded rather unsure of himself. He had, for weeks now, been debating whether or not to approach Harry, but after how much of a knobhead he had been after his brother's sorting, he was not sure if Harry would just forgive and forget. By telling himself this, that Harry didn’t seem to be outright hanging around with Death Eaters in the making, he figured he was subconsciously trying to justify everything.

"Tracey Davis," Hermione supplied.

"Yeah, I've never heard that name, which means her family were never convicted Death Eaters, and Greengrass's were neutral."

"Weren't they part of the Conservatives at one point?" Ron asked warily.

"Yeah," Charlus admitted hesitantly, "but that was almost fifty years ago now. They haven't been Conservatives since 1945, I think."

"What's all this about Conservatives and Neutrals?" Hermione asked.

Charlus winced. "It's… uh, a bunch of political stuff," he said. "No offence, Hermione, but it probably won't be that important for you to know being muggleborn."

"What is that supposed to mean, exactly?"

"Nothing," Charlus defended, "just that you won't have a Wizengamot seat, so you won't really need to know much of it except for voting in ministers."

"That seems rather important."

Charlus sighed. "The gist of it is that the Liberals are the light side — the good guys. Their leader is Professor Dumbledore and mine and Ron's families are both in that faction. The Neutrals are sort of complicated. They're all right, I guess, but they sometimes vote with the Conservatives, which are led by Lucius Malfoy and are full of dark witches and wizards."

"Is that Draco's dad?" As Hermione asked the question, she couldn’t help but notice how biased that account seemed.

"Yup," Ron said darkly. "Even my Dad rants about Lucius Malfoy, and he likes everybody."

There was a long, oppressive silence before Hermione spoke up. "If you want to talk to him," Hermione said with more than a pinch of exasperation, "you could always just do it, you know."

Charlus blinked. "How did you-"

"Oh, honestly," Hermione huffed, "it's obvious! The way you keep sneaking looks at him in Potions and at mealtimes. I'm sorry, Charlus, but you're as subtle as a hammer hitting a gong."

Charlus flushed. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

Ron fidgeted uncomfortably. "I've… uh… seen you looking at him a few times." 

Charlus sighed and looked at Ron. "If I were to… uh… make up with him and invite him to hang out or something, would you be… you know — decent?" He held up his hands to forgo an objection. "Not trying to be a prat, mate, but you were pretty against him when… you know?"

Ron didn’t speak for some time, and Charlus felt his heart sink but eventually, he answered. "I'd rather not, but I'll be decent if he's decent."

Charlus sighed, feeling the tension drain from his body at his friend's grudging acceptance. It really was the best he could have hoped for.

_**December 22, 1991  
The Entrance Hall  
10:04 AM** _

The last week of the first term had been the coldest that Harry had yet experienced at Hogwarts. Just over a week ago, the castle had woken up to find itself and its grounds coated in a layer of snow that did not melt in the coming days. As a matter of fact, more snow had been fast approaching, and with it came the chilling Scottish winters that the first years had been warned about countless times since their arrival at the school.

Now, as Harry watched Daphne and Tracey make their way onto the grounds to begin their journey to the train station and eventually back home, he could say that he truly felt the cold and dreariness of winter for the first time.

If you would have asked him four months ago if Harry thought he would ever have friends, people who he even, to an extent, trusted, he would have laughed openly and dismissed the very idea. Now, he had not only one friend, but two. Granted, his relationship with Daphne did somehow feel more personal, likely as a result of him opening up all those months ago. He still didn’t know what to make of that exchange, that weakness. He hadn’t managed to siphon up the courage to repeat that metaphorical plunge, nor did he think he would any time soon.

Now, with Tracey and Daphne gone, Harry found himself oddly empty. That was, at least, until he realized that now, the castle, its secrets, and its knowledge were more at his disposal than ever before. He could not help but smile widely at the thought.

So lost he was in the thought that he did not notice the approach of another until her soft, cool hand closed around his wrist. He flinched violently and looked over his shoulder, almost cursing aloud at the calculating look in Parkinson's eyes. "Parkinson?"

"No need to be so jumpy, Potter." She tilted her head to the nearest abandoned classroom without another word. Not until the two of them entered the room did she turn to him with a gleam in her eyes. "Terence Higgs," she said without preamble, "met his end at the jaws of a three-headed-dog behind the door blocking the third-floor corridor. Apparently, he was trying to find out what was in there." She smiled sweetly at his dumbstruck expression. "Have a good holiday."

_**December 22, 1991  
Castello Zabini  
6:44 PM** _

For all of his practice over the years, and he had indeed had quite a lot of it, Blaise Zabini never did quite get used to the feeling of international travel via portkey. The floo was nauseating, but in his experience, little could compare to portkeying from London to the coast of Italy. He managed to land as gracefully as ever, but he felt as if his brain had just been put through a blender, and he blinked several times before the glorious entrance hall of his five-century-old family home came into proper focus.

He allowed a rare smile to play on his lips as he took in the scene after so many months away. Blaise wasn’t one for shows of emotion in public. He had been taught the subtleties of politics, manipulation and betrayal from a very early age, and one message had stuck above all else, one message that his mother practised as much as she preached.

"Emotions are dangerous things, mio caro. They can be a most wonderful weapon or a most brutal way of meeting your end. It is all about control. Proper control means they are yours to use and not the property of others to use against you."

It was as paranoid a statement as was typical for his mother, but Blaise still couldn’t help but let his soft smile grow at the memory. He thought idly that if his mother knew how well he had stuck to the plan this term at Hogwarts, she would be rather proud. Or, at least, as proud as one who suppressed nearly all of her emotions could be. 

That was the difference between Blaise and his mother, a difference that he’d realized at the age of nine. Where he used Occlumency and overall emotional control to mask his true thoughts and emotions, his mother used it to suppress them in general. It was methodical and obsessive, bordering on sociopathic how callous his mother was when it came to human emotion.

_"It is only a distraction. It is our destiny that matters, mio caro. It is the Zabini destiny that matters, not what the Zabinis think along the way."_

Blaise disagreed wholeheartedly with that statement. He had always thought fulfilling a destiny was pointless without emotion. Sure, he understood the significance of said destiny, and why he, like his mother and grandparents and those before them was expected to pursue it, but without emotion, there was no reward. Without reward, life was pointless. For all of his mother's talks about destiny, Blaise liked his emotions, liked the journey as much, more actually, than he liked the legacy.

He was snapped out of his deep, philosophical thoughts when one of the many house elves popped into the room. "Master Blaise is home!" it said cheerfully, and Blaise offered the creature his warmest, softest, most trademarked smile.

_"It is good to be home, Cecile."_

_"Cecile be taking master Blaise's things up to his room if master has no objections."_ Blaise shook his head to indicate he had none. _"Countess Antonia wishes to see master Blaise in the first-floor living room nearest the entrance hall, sir."_

Blaise nodded. _"Thank you, Cecile. I’ll see her right away."_

True to his word, Blaise found the room in question and allowed his eyes to find his mother, who slowly paused the turning of a page in whatever book she was reading to look up and meet Blaise's eyes with a warm smile.

 _"Ah, mio caro. I hope you have not forgotten how to speak in the language in which you were raised?"_ She spoke to Blaise not in English, but in Italian, which he swiftly reciprocated.

_"Don't be foolish, Mother. I would never do something so careless."_

His mother's eyes shone. _"No, I would hope not, just as I hope you carried that attitude into your first term at Hogwarts."_

_"I did, Mother."_

_"Well then, I shall let you add your observations about the potential piece of the puzzle that we left off on during the summer."_

_**December 25, 1991  
The Slytherin Common Room  
7:08 AM** _

Harry was awake early on Christmas morning, or was it the morning of Yule? That still confused him, a bit. Despite the day in question, he was up no earlier than normal for him. He’d been told that all of the Slytherin’s presents would be found in the common room.

Harry honestly didn’t expect much. Presents from Tracey, Daphne, and maybe his father, but nothing more than that. With that in mind, it wasn’t overly difficult for him to restrain himself, waiting in his dorm while reading the book on wards he had received from Grace. He really wanted to try the Proximity Ward, and now that the rest of his dorm mates were all gone, it would be the perfect opportunity. To do so, however, he would need a knowledge of Runes, or, at least, something to go off of.

At 7:00 am, he made his way down into the common room and despite his restraint, he couldn’t help but be excited. Few presents as he expected, it would be more than he had ever received before. To his great shock, the pile that was laid out for him wasn’t small at all. Sure, it was the smallest of the lot gathered, but there were still… many more presents than Harry had expected, and he let his jaw fall open for a moment at the foreign concept since nobody was in the common room as of yet.

He only had to wait a few minutes before Cassius, (who had also asked him to call him by his first name two days earlier( entered the common room. All of Harry's yearmates had gone home, as had Calypso, along with most of the house, so in the rare moments when Harry was with others, it had been Cassius and the Carrows. They were, after all, the only Slytherin he knew that had stayed behind.

"Morning, Harry. Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Cassius. Are we waiting on the Carrows?"

"Yup." Cassius sat lazily back in the armchair with his arms behind his head. "They shouldn't take long. They're not ones to spend an hour on make-up, and clothes and whatever else girls spend hours doing."

True to that statement, Hestia and Flora entered the room not ten minutes later, taking seats near Harry and Cassius. Nobody so much as moved and Hestia rolled her eyes.

"Oh, by Merlin, it's Christmas; we don't have to act like the perfect little purebloods right now." With matching grins, Harry and Cassius bore down on their pile. Flora's smirk was more restrained, but she and her sister did the same.

Harry had received more than he had even initially noticed, even though much of it was small. Crabbe and Goyle had both gotten him large boxes of Honeydukes chocolate, which was mollifying to Harry, since he had sent them sweets as well. 

He’d sat down with Calypso and gone over the whole “art of gift-giving” as she called it. It was a sort of tradition in old pureblood families, and a choice of gift, or lack thereof, spoke volumes to how one viewed you.

Most of his other yearmates, with the exception of his friends, had gotten him smaller, tokenry items. Parkinson had surprised him though. She’d sent him a black cloak with emerald green trim. It appeared to be made from the richest of materials, and Harry was actually sure he’d be using it a great deal. Suddenly, the simple bracelet he’d sent her seemed rather inadequate. 

When he quietly voiced his concern to the three older students sat with him, Hestia had reassured him almost dismissively. "That's not your problem. She technically overstepped her boundaries, you didn't understep. It might be that she wants to strengthen your relationship, it might just be a show of generosity, either way, no-fault from you."

Blaise Zabini had sent Harry a book, though not one he had ever heard of before. "Do any of you know what this book is?" Harry asked hesitantly. He really did not like asking questions, even if it was much easier when he wasn’t asking an adult.

Cassius's eyes sharpened for a moment but he didn’t say anything for a few seconds. "Yeah," he answered eventually, "it's actually extremely popular. It's a book of fairytales."

Harry blinked. 'Fairytales?'

He wasn’t sure what Zabini was playing at but decided to push the thought off to the side. Cassius had got Harry a more in-depth book on the history of dark lords in Europe. He had seen Harry reading _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ and had snorted. "That's ministry censored trash," was what he had told Harry when he’d inquired.

"Not explicitly legal, I'm taking it?" Harry asked him with curiosity, turning the ancient-looking tome over in his hands.

“Does it matter?"

Harry thought absentmindedly that this may have been a test of sorts, similar to the one Grace had presented him with the day after Samhain. Harry just smirked back at Cassius. "Not at all, I just wouldn't want to get caught reading it."

Something flashed across the boy's face that Harry thought was a look of triumph. "Not legal to read, no.” Harry nodded, thanking him as he delicately put the book aside.

The Carrows too had gone for a book, though theirs was one on curses. Harry didn’t think it was illegal, but thought it was probably pretty close. Then he opened up his gift from Calypso, and his mask fully slipped, at least for a second.

_The Forsaken Magic: An Introduction to the Dark Arts_

That one definitely wasn’t legal, yet it drew the widest smile yet from Harry. he didn’t care that Cassius and the Carrows were watching him. He didn’t care that it was a test, either, for he knew that his reaction had already earned him a passing grade.

Tracey had purchased Harry a model serpent that could be used as a display. Daphne had bought him two books. The first was on Transfiguration theory, and it was clearly advanced. The second was one on Magical Theory, one that, like the books from Cassius and Calypso, looked absolutely ancient. To their credit, James and Charlus had both sent Harry presents, and he suddenly felt relieved he had ordained to do the same in return. James sent Harry a golden watch that looked extremely expensive.

"It's traditional," Cassius told him. "It's a Lord-to-Heir sort of gift. My Father got me one when I turned twelve."

"As did mine my first Christmas at Hogwarts," Hestia added quietly.

Though Harry appreciated the sentiment, the gift did not make his breath hitch the way that Charlus's did. It was an unmarked photo album. Inside were countless pictures of himself, James and a load of others. Some he suspected were Potter ancestors, some clearly were not. In many of the photographs, there was also a rather beautiful looking redhead who, after a moment, Harry realized had his eyes.

His mother.

He shoved the album away before anyone could see it and ignored Cassius's inquisitive glance and the Carrow's raised eyebrows. This was for his eyes and his eyes alone.

To his slight surprise, Pettigrew had also come through with a gift, and more surprising still, it was one of his favourites.

_Harry,  
Since I missed so many of these, I decided to go big or go home!_

_It isn't technically against the rules to own a knife at Hogwarts, but don't get caught with this one, will you? Slide the blade into the groove of any door and it will unlock unless it’s protected by some seriously powerful, seriously illegal wards. At that point, call me and your Dad, because we get bonuses for arrests!_

_Happy Christmas,  
Peter_

Three left now.

One was clearly a book and it was the one he opened next. If he had been surprised by the book from Calypso, he was flabbergasted by this.

_A Mental Mastery: Intricacies of the Mind_

There was, to Harry's mild surprise, a small note in the box.

_Merry Christmas,  
Do not under any circumstances be seen with this book. I should never have sent it to you, but since you seemed so interested…_

_Please treat the book and information very carefully,_

_Charlotte_

Suddenly, the rather splendid necklace Harry had decided on for Charlotte seemed woefully insignificant. Then again, there was nothing he could have given her that could have held a candle to this. Cassius almost flinched back as Harry's eyes flashed with something he couldn’t place. He couldn’t see the book he held, but clearly, it had drawn an emotional reaction of sorts.

"You have two more," Hestia pointed out after a solid minute of Harry staring at the cover of the book with unmasked hunger.

Harry blinked; seeming to come out of a great trance as he slowly slid the book into his magically expanded school bag as discreetly as possible. "Right, sorry; I got a bit… distracted."

The next present certainly caught him by surprise, and he had to try very hard not to gape both at the gift and the signature.

_A most pleasant morning to you,  
It would pain me very much to see a family like yours torn so needlessly asunder, and I can think of no gift stronger than the bond of brotherhood._

_Enclosed is a piece of parchment that is linked to one other. That other parchment will be in the possession of your brother, and anything either of you writes on the parchment will appear on its twin._

_I do not seek repayment for the gift. But if you feel so inclined, repay an old man by tightening the bond between brothers._

_Have a very happy Christmas!  
Yours truly,  
Albus Dumbledore_

Harry quickly hid this one away too and by this point, he was certain that nothing could surprise him as he reached for the final box.

How woefully wrong he was.

He opened the final, much smaller box with no real emotion. After all, how was it possible to top something like that? To his utmost amazement, whoever had chosen to send the beautiful ring inside had managed to do just that. It was as dark as obsidian with an emerald in the shape of a serpent set into its centre. 

It wasn’t its appearance that struck Harry dumb, however, but the note attached to it.

_This enclosed ring is not a simple trinket, but a one of a kind magical artefact enchanted with the ability to detect the presence of humans and magic around you. In addition, it will allow the wearer to eavesdrop into conversations around them with unmatched precision, an ability which is tied to and activated by the user's thought. If one is to simply take a deep, calming breath, they will find that those around them will mysteriously fail to notice them at all._

_Use it well.  
A very Merry Christmas from your secret admirer_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I apologize for the number of questions left unanswered by this chapter. Some will be answered sooner than others. One in particular is a long-term plot that you guys will be waiting a long time to see the conclusion of but hey, they have all need to start somewhere.**
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> **Please read and review.**
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> **This chapter was revised on October 13th, 2020 with the help of Discord Editors Asmodeus Stahl and rawmeat898.**


	14. The Speaker’s Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
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> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
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**December 25th 1991.  
The Slytherin Dormitories.  
11:24 PM.**

Harry had rather enjoyed what he considered to be his first real Christmas. It did feel intensely odd to have a true Christmas at all. And not just the presents. He spent the day with Cassius and the Carrow twins, and for once, everything had been set aside and the four of them had simply enjoyed a day as children. 

The feast had been a bit odd. The house tables had all been combined to form one table containing both staff and students. Harry caught Charlus’s eye several times and there did not seem to be any of the vitriol that his brother had held for him at the beginning of the year. Instead, every time their eyes met, it just seemed… awkward. 

Harry thought that Dumbledore’s display with wizarding crackers was a bit odd, though it paled in comparison to a rather tipsy looking Hagrid kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek in an attempt to win himself some more alcohol. Harry could only imagine the scenes this would cause if it had taken place at a muggle primary school, but in the crazy world of magic that he now occupied, nobody so much as batted an eye. 

By the end of the meal, his eyes had narrowed upon Dumbledore once more. He was possibly extremely eccentric, whether naturally or due to old age, or Dumbledore had been missorted and it was all an elaborate mask to throw off his foes. Personally, Harry thought the truth lay somewhere in the middle, but without more information, he could not be certain one way or the other. 

After dinner, Harry looked over the proximity ward one final time. He really needed to start looking into Ancient Runes, as they seemed an essential component to nearly all of the wards in this book. In the end, he had asked to borrow a Runic dictionary from Hestia to copy the runes he would need for the ward, and returned it a few minutes later with a genuinely grateful “thank you.”

It took him more than a few tries to get the runes right. They had to be drawn in the air with one's wand, and only then could the incantation be intoned with any effect. The ward took longer to put up than he would have liked but, miraculously, it held. The next step would be for Harry to tie other wards into the scheme, but for that, he was quite certain he would need a deeper understanding of Ancient Runes.

By this point, everybody seemed to be asleep. Not trusting his own judgement on that front, Harry decided it was time to put on the ring for the first time. He had asked his three older acquaintances to cast every detection spell they knew on the thing for curses, but it had come up empty. Surprisingly, none of them had inquired as to the ring’s function, though Harry could practically see the gears turning in the minds of both of the Carrow twins. 

When he slipped it on his finger, he felt… something creeping into his mind. It was not an unpleasant feeling, per se, just an odd one. It was as if his brain had just got a breath of fresh air. More accurately, it felt as if he had a sixth sense. He just — knew that there was no one in the room, nor in the hallway connecting all of the boys’ dormitories. 

Slowly, very slowly, Harry drew in a deep, measured breath and had to suppress a shout of surprise when, suddenly, his entire body seemed to fade from existence. 

Absentmindedly, he remembered the bit about a deep, calming breath leading to him being impossible to notice. Critically, making sure to keep his breath held, he raised one shaking hand to his face and realized, with a large degree of unadulterated awe that he could see no hand at all. Without conscious thought, Harry allowed his breath to come normally again as a large, open grin spread across his face. This was, perhaps, the most incredible magic he had seen thus far.

Taking a minute to catch his breath again, Harry drew it in once more, slowly creeping out of the dormitory as he did. This was something he had meant to do for months, but with the older Slytherins like Grace being as watchful as they were, he never had the time nor the means to manage such a thing. In saying that, he had made sure over the past three months to keep a very close eye on all of the serpentine decor within the Slytherin common room and dorms. That was surprisingly more difficult than it sounded as there was a lot of it, but now, as Harry’s heart raced in his chest with anticipation, he thought it may have just been worth it. 

The low ceilinged Slytherin common room did not possess a set of stairs or any such addition. Instead, two long hallways that looked much more like dark, vast tunnels led off of the main common room. One hallway leading to the girls’ dormitories was on the left side of the room. The other leading to the boy’s dormitories led off to the right, on the opposite side of the common room from its sister hallway. Likewise, there was a much shorter hallway off of the common room set into the wall directly opposite the entrance that led to the head boy’s and girl’s quarters. They were only ever occupied when a Slytherin filled the role. This year, the Head Girl was a Slytherin, Jemma Fawley, though the Head Boy was a Ravenclaw whom Harry did not know. 

In the boy’s and girl’s dorms, respectively, there were four fairly spacious rooms on either side of the hallway. On one side were the dorm rooms for the first, third, fifth and seventh years. On the other were three dorm rooms, one for each the second, fourth and sixth years, and a fourth, larger room — the restroom. 

Each hallway ended in a dead end. There was no portrait hanging on the wall, but the wall itself, at least on the boy’s side, was carved skillfully with the image of an absolutely titanic serpent coiled tightly around what appeared to be an oversized wizard’s staff. When Harry said the hallway was long, he meant, long. It took him several minutes, in which he alternated between holding and releasing his breath, still acutely aware that no living soul was near him to creep to the far end of the hall. There was quite a large amount of space between the dead end and the closest rooms, the seventh year boy’s dorm on one side and the restroom opposite— a rather disproportionately large amount of space. Trusting the ring on his finger to detect if somebody was spying on him, something he was certain was not happening, Harry let out the breath he was holding and allowed his next word to escape as a hiss.

**“Custos?”**

Instantly, the snake’s head lifted. Harry did not see how the magic that allowed portraits to move extended to carvings, but he merely shrugged. That was a puzzle that was miles above his current level. 

**“It has been so long.”** the snake hissed, eyeing Harry curiously. **“You desire entry, I presume?”**

Harry nodded. **“How would I go about acquiring it?”**

The snake made an odd sound that Harry dimly thought may have been laughter. If not for the ring on his finger and the certainty it gave him in regards to his surroundings, he would be a lot more twitchy using Parseltongue so freely. **“You merely needed to ask.”** And in the same manner that the Slytherin common room opened for its charges, the wall slid aside.

**Meanwhile, Several Floors Above.**

Charlus snapped the book closed with a surprised shout that was completely drowned out by the terrible wailing sound coming from the book in question. Without thinking, he shoved the book back onto the shelf and sprinted out of the library at top speed. The only thing he cared about in that moment was putting as much space between himself and the library as possible. 

He had been so certain that the solution to their Flamel issue was buried somewhere within the Restricted Section. He had heard the name before, if in vague terms. His dad had mentioned meeting the man once — “an old friend of Professor Dumbledore’s”. Beyond that, and the fact that Charlus had rarely heard his father speak about anybody with as much respect as he had Flamel, he knew nothing. Even accounting for the fiasco involving the shrieking book, Charlus was still fairly sure that the restricted section likely held his answer but he had, like the impulsive fool he knew he sometimes was, grabbed the first book to catch his attention without thinking.

As he took the halls of Hogwarts at a blind sprint, Charlus had a rare moment of gratitude for the gruelling workout regimes his father had insisted he partake in for several years now. It took him an admirably long time to become winded. Unfortunately, by the time that moment came, he was so breathless from the distance he had run that he could do little more than stand there and catch that breath. A minute or so later, Charlus’s heart stopped as he heard shuffling footsteps approaching. Panicking irrationally, forgetting altogether about the fact that he was invisible, Charlus quickly slipped into the room nearest him, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could manage. His body was fraught with tension for a few long, painful moments before he heard the feet he thought belonged to Filch shuffle their way past the room. He sighed, letting the tension drain from his shoulders as he turned to the… Not so mundane empty classroom, after all.

The room was, on the surface, much like many of the abandoned classrooms that littered the ancient castle. The desks were all pushed against a far wall, and the room had a distinct sense of being unoccupied for a long time. What caught Charlus’s attention was not the typical attributes of the abandoned room. What caught his attention, instead, was the not so typical, rather ornate looking mirror that stood in the center of the room.

It seemed to emanate magic. Charlus was not so intune with his magic that he could interpret anything from the mirror, as he had been told was possible with practice, but he was at least aware that there certainly was magic radiating from the mirror’s surface in waves. The mirror itself was taller than Charlus and looked extremely old and ornate. Upon the mirror was an inscription, one that seemed to be written in a language that Charlus did not understand, even though the letters, at least, seemed to be English.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_

Charlus edged closer to the mirror, having had his curiosity piqued. As he came close enough to clearly view the image within its surface though, he froze. He whirled around, wand outstretched and a spell on his lips but faltered. 

There was nobody else in the room with him — at least, there did not appear to be. 

As Charlus squinted into the mirror once more with narrowed eyes, there was a brief moment where he wondered if the magic that was impacting the mirror allowed it to show invisible people. When the figures’ features came into view, however, he had to hurriedly stifle a gasp of surprise.

The mirror did not show invisible people. He was certain of that, at least, because there were three people alongside him in the mirror. Of those three, Charlus was certain that one was incapable of invisibility and one… having died more than ten years ago, was incapable of anything at all. 

Charlus stood shoulder to shoulder with another boy, their arms around each other as they both smiled proudly out of the mirror. The two boys stood between two taller figures. One of them, James Potter, had his arm around Charlus’s shoulders and was smiling proudly down at his son. The other figure had both arms wrapped around the other boy, who leaned into her easily. The other boy was an inch or two shorter than Charlus, definitely on the thin side, had the same black hair as Charlus, if a lot more controlled, and the same shining, emerald green eyes as the woman beside him.

**December 26th 1991.  
The Speaker’s Den.  
5:48 AM.**

Harry had decided the night previous that as much as he was loathed to admit it, sleep really was an essential bodily function. As soon as he rose that next morning though, he took two books and quickly made his way out of his dorm, down the hall and into what Custos had called “The Speaker’s Den.” 

When he entered the room, his eyes roamed hungrily over it once more. To call it a room was actually a bit of a snub. He would not call it a flat by any means, but it was certainly reminiscent of one. 

The main room was large and rectangular. The stone walls had been all coloured emerald green, something that gave the room a slightly brighter appearance than the rest of the dungeons. One of the walls was lined with several bookshelves that were all full. As best as Harry could work out, it seemed a sort of tradition for those who had found the room to leave at least one book behind, as some of the material was more personal than others. Some of the books were more generic, or ancient, or, in many cases, way too advanced for him to really understand at the moment. One book that did catch his eye was a FIRST edition of _Hogwarts, A History._ He smirked; that Granger girl would kill for that book. Harry too thought it would be quite interesting to read an unedited, unfiltered history of Hogwarts, but currently it was not at the top of his list of priorities. 

Much of this main room was taken up by a long, rectangular table which dominated the room’s center. It was done in a rich, dark wood, as were the chairs, but it was covered in a long, deep green table cloth with the house crest emblazoned upon the center of the cloth in a lighter green colour. Chairs lined each length of the table and at its head sat a slightly different chair. It was more a throne than a chair. It was done in a soft material, with comfortable armrests. It’s defining feature, however, was the stone head of a serpent that extended from the top of the backrest, seeming to glare down at the table. Harry didn’t think the chair held any true meaning, at least not that he’d figured out as of yet, but he was damned if he didn’t think it added greatly to the appeal of the room. 

There were a few other, smaller rooms off of this one as well. A smaller, more low key study. A smaller, more comfortable, less formal looking sitting room. A larger room lined with bookshelves that were all currently empty, and a restroom, smaller but just as luxurious as the ones off of the Slytherin dorms. 

Quite simply, in Harry’s estimation, this place was perfect. 

Cautiously, Harry took his seat in the throne-like chair and half expected it to kill him, or something. He did, as a matter of fact feel… something run over his body, like cold water, but it seemed to have no effect on him. He reached into his bag and debated between his two preferred texts before, with a determined expression, he took out the book on mind magics from Charlotte. It had been something he had searched for after his encounter with Charlotte on Samhain, and he had never forgotten how badly he wanted to know more about that particular branch of magic. 

The book seemed ancient, but, to his relief, it was miraculously written in modern day English. Absentmindedly, Harry wondered whether all magical books had some sort of spell to make sure the language used within kept up to date. Personally, he wasn’t sure such a thing was possible, but he struggled for any better explanation. 

When he opened the absolutely hulking tome and peered critically at the table of contents, he realized he was starting from square one. Turning to the first page of the book, he began to read.

_The Basics of Mind Magic._

_Your mind, just like your body, can be intimately affected by the magic that lives and breathes in our world. The potential impacts and importance of mind magic on one's life can not be overlooked by any who seek to achieve their goals. In order to do so, however, they must understand mind magic at its most basic forms._

_In short, simple terms, Occlumency is the art of self mastery over one’s mind. Occlumency involves knowing your mind on such an intimate level that it can be controlled, protected, and even self manipulated. There are many stages to the mastery of Occlumency, but it is a skill that is undeniably useful in both its passive and active forms, and it can do far more than negate what many weak minded would call its opposite._

_To speak of what many call Occlumency’s opposite, you must understand the art itself, that being Legilimency. Legilimency is the art of mental manipulation of others. Its applications are only as limited as the users creativity and, of course, the victims skill with the aforementioned intricacies of Occlumency._

_Though this text may be defined as an open book, I implore any who choose to read and follow through on this information to gain proficiency in the prior art before advancing onto the latter. It is my opinion that manipulation of another’s mind will only lead to disastrous self destruction if one has not mastered their own mind first._

By the end of that introduction to Occlumency and Legilimency, Harry was well and completely hooked. He obviously did not have the knowledge to make an informed opinion on the author’s thesis regarding the learning of Legilimency, but it made sense to Harry. 

As he would soon find out, it would be a long time before he gained a true mastery over his mind, but for the benefits it offered, Harry was certainly willing to exercise a degree of patience.

**December 28th 1991.  
The Slytherin Dormitories.  
12:46 AM.**

Harry groaned in resignation as he slowly sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He had spent much of the last two days wrapped up in the book about Occlumency and had begun performing some of the preliminary exercises it suggested. He had been annoyed by how long the process as a whole would take, but overall, he was looking forward to the benefits that the art would grant him in due time.

Unfortunately, the use of Occlumency to aid in sleep, which he had read was possible, was still a long way beyond him and would be for quite some time. The nightmares had woken him tonight and he knew that at least for now, he would not be able to get back to sleep. He sighed, sliding out of bed and pulling on a plain black robe. There was no need for him to reach for his ring, as he had decided a day earlier that he had no plans of taking it off if he did not absolutely have to.

He debated going back to the book on The Mind Arts, or perhaps starting the introduction to The Dark Arts but decided against both options. If he partook in anything so intellectual, he would only have an even more difficult time falling asleep. Instead, he decided that a true test of the ring and its usefulness was in order. There was, after all, so much of Hogwarts that he had not yet explored.

**Meanwhile On The Seventh Floor.**

Charlus practically hurled the cloak across the room upon entering it, so lost he was to excitement. Ron had elected not to return with him to view the mirror tonight, saying that he had experienced plenty enough of it on his first and only visit. Charlus had merely frowned, unable to understand how his friend could just walk away from the wonders of the mirror.

If truth be told, the mirror was all Charlus had really considered in the past forty-eight or so hours. Gone was the stress that accompanied the mystery of Nicholas Flamel and the magical stone so valuable that Professor Dumbledore needed to hide it away. Gone was the inner turmoil regarding whether to approach his twin brother. The only thing left was a deep rooted desire to peer into the depths of the mirror that always awaited him in this room.

He did not know what the mirror showed him. Evidently, it was not the future, for as much as he wished it was otherwise, there was no power strong enough to raise the dead, and his mother was always front and center in the vision of euphoria that presented itself to him every time he gazed into the mirror. Perhaps it was some sort of alternate reality? A reality in which Voldemort had not come for the Potters ten and a bit years ago. Or, perhaps, a reality where she had never existed at all, or at least, never devolved into the monster that she had become in the real world.

Charlus did not care as he positively beamed into the mirror. He stood there, staring into it unflinching, unthinking for… he wasn’t even sure how long. So distracted was he by his vision of perfection that he did not notice the door slide slowly and silently open. As a matter of fact, he did not notice a thing until a cool, quiet voice spoke from the doorway.

“What are you doing, Charlus?”

Harry had wandered aimlessly for a while, more testing the ring than anything else. Filch had walked right by him as he held his breath, a fact that nearly gave him what he was sure would have been a fatal heart attack, but he did not notice a thing. Neither, it seemed, did any of the ghosts that passed him by. Sure, the ring was limited by his breath, but it wasn’t exactly difficult to run behind statues to catch it if necessary, and in reality, he spent the majority of his time perfectly visible as he could be one hundred percent certain that no soul, living or dead was near him. He was unsure if this ability stretched to Mrs. Norris, but he wasn’t overly concerned even if it didn’t. 

Granted, this meant that it took him a bit longer to navigate the castle than if he had possessed true, unlimited invisibility, but Harry was rather adept at sneaking around, and honestly, he thought it was more fun this way. 

He was so lost in the feeling of freedom that the ring presented him that he hardly noticed where he was going until he saw a familiar tapestry that indicated he was on the seventh floor. He had not really explored up here at length, seeing as the last time he had tried, the Gryffindors had jumped him, so he shrugged, making his way down the hall. 

He only took a few steps before he froze. The ring was brushing at his conscience. There was somebody nearby… a bit up ahead and to the left. How he knew the details he had no idea, but he was grateful nonetheless. Drawing in a deep breath, Harry made his way towards the presence but when he rounded the corner, nothing was there. Upon a closer look, he noticed that though nobody was obviously there, a door on the left wall stood slightly ajar. Harry crept slowly to the door and peered inside. He caught a flash of painfully familiar black hair and paused. 

Logically, he should leave. He was by no means close, nor was he even on good terms with his brother. Logically, he should leave, because it was now more than three hours past curfew and he was not sure how his brother would react to seeing him. If he was spotted and his brother chose to go to a teacher, he was not sure that his glowing reputation would save him against the word of The-Boy-Who-Lived, especially not after the blatant favouritism that had been shown to him through his entry to the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Worse still, there were definitely a handful of teachers that seemed to have a problem looking past the green tie on his robes. 

Logically, Harry knew all of this, but there was still a small part of him that was as Potter as his brother and if the Potters were known for anything, it was that there family had been Gryffindors for centuries.

With a sigh to indicate exactly how bad of an idea Harry knew this was, he slowly and quietly pushed open the door and stepped inside. 

He blinked; what he saw was not at all what he had expected.

Charlus was standing there, completely exposed with his back to Harry, peering intently at… a mirror?

“What are you doing, Charlus?” Harry asked softly, closing the door as quietly as he could manage. He winced as Charlus whirled around, a slightly glazed look in his eye as he fumbled for his wand. When his eyes met Harry’s, who had not yet moved but was more than prepared to draw his wand from its holster on a moment’s notice, Charlus relaxed almost at once.

“Oh,” he said with a sigh of clear relief, “it’s you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Who did you expect it to be?”

Charlus frowned. “I… don’t know, I guess. I just sort of thought the worst, you know? It’s… actually, I don’t know what time it is, but it’s way past curfew.”

Harry’s lips twitched. “There is a spell for that, you know?”

Charlus rolled his eyes, but there was no bite in his expression. “Yes, yes, I’m well aware. I’ve known that for-“ he paused whatever he was going to say, shooting a rather sheepish look towards Harry.

“Longer than I’ve known about magic.” Harry finished for him.

Charlus winced. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Probably not; whatever I may think about you, you’re not Weasley. You have a bit more tact than that, at least until you get riled up.”

Charlus flushed. “That was… uh… a really backhanded compliment?”

Harry sniffed. “Merely an observation.” he corrected. 

Charlus rolled his eyes again. “You really are a damn snake, aren’t you?” Harry tensed, but Charlus’s voice was neutral if a bit… bitter, maybe? “You’re even speaking in riddles now.”

“Does your hero not speak in riddles too?” Harry asked him. “He was a Gryffindor, was he not?”

“You mean Professor Dumbledore?” Charlus asked, and Harry nodded. “Yeah, he was a Gryffindor.”

Harry couldn’t help it; he smirked. “Rhetorical question, Charlus.” he told his twin, causing him to blush.

“Damn snakes.” he muttered, but again, there was none of the bite that Harry expected to hear in his voice. 

“This is touching and all,” Harry told him with a certain degree of sincerity, “but if you haven’t noticed, which I would actually bet you haven’t, you never answered my question.”

Charlus blinked. “What?”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh,” Charlus seemed to hesitate, “you-you’ll promise not to tell anybody if I tell you?”

Harry milled it over for only a second before he nodded. He doubted it was of any real importance and if it was somehow a life or death situation, he hadn’t promised in any binding manner, per se, and Charlus hadn’t mentioned anything about hinting or leading somebody else to figure it out on their own. 

“It’s this mirror,” Charlus admitted, sounding a bit nervous, “I… uh… found it a couple nights ago and have been coming back since.”

Harry tilted his head. “You’ve… been coming here every night to look into a mirror?” 

Charlus blushed again. He was such an open book. “It’s not an ordinary mirror!” he defended himself resolutely. “Go look for yourself and tell me you’re not interested!” he challenged.

Harry nodded curtly and stepped past his brother to stand in front of the mirror. When he stood in front of the mirror and looked into it, there was a moment when he wondered what the hell his brother was on about. There was Harry staring back out at him but there was… something off. 

The Harry in the mirror was smirking in a smug sort of way. Harry currently was not doing that. He looked different, too. Taller than Harry, still maybe an inch or so below average, but taller than Harry and well muscled. It was more than his physique that was different. The glow in Harry’s eyes that he normally restrained was let loose in his reflection and, upon closer examination, Harry realized it had been turned up to eleven. There seemed to be an odd aura around him. Confidence, importance, fulfillment — power. More than anything, the Harry in the mirror, a Harry who was draped in an odd, silvery cloak and held a dark wand in his hand positively glowed with power. Harry wanted this. More than anything, Harry wanted this.

Quickly, he snapped his attention away from the mirror with a considerable effort. No image should be that tantalizing, least of all to Harry, who never let himself do such things as pointless as daydreaming.

“Well?” Charlus asked him.

“To be honest,” Harry answered carefully, “I’m more terrified by the thing than interested by it.”

Charlus looked perplexed. “You really are confusing.” his brother told him. 

Harry shrugged. “There’s something… off about that mirror. I can’t explain it but… when I looked into it — well, I never daydream. Let’s just say I didn’t exactly have time to do it as a child, and old habits die hard. But when I looked at that mirror-“ but Harry cut off. His ring, or precisely, it’s magic was pressing on his consciousness again and he whirled around, wand snapping from his holster as he took aim at the door.

“Why, Harry, I do apologize for scaring you, dear boy. I found myself most enraptured with your most clever deduction.”

‘Shit! The ring didn’t even notice him.’

“P-P-Professor Dumbledore, sir?” Charlus asked nervously.

Dumbledore just smiled gently at the both of them as he closed the door. “Rest easy, Charlus.” Dumbledore told him. “It was not my intention to scare you nor your twin, nor is it my intention to see either one of you in any degree of trouble on this rather fine evening.”

Charlus looked a bit relieved but Harry’s mind focused. He found it more than a little bit odd how the Headmaster of a school did not want to see two students in trouble after the both of them had been caught red handed while blatantly breaking curfew by more than three hours.

“Thank you, sir.” Charlus said sincerely. “I-I didn’t see you, sir.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled madly as they flashed from Charlus to something odd and silvery in the corner of the room. “If you will excuse my lack of modesty, Charlus, I do not need a cloak to become invisible.”

Harry, who had not even known that a cloak could make you invisible, allowed his eyes to flick towards the corner in question, but they stayed there for only a heartbeat. 

“So then, Harry,” Dumbledore addressed him, surprising him out of his contemplations, “you have figured out the puzzle that is The Mirror of Erised, then?” 

‘Well, I know what it’s called now.’

“Not exactly, sir.” Harry admitted. “I just know that it has some kind of effect on people — their minds, probably.”

Dumbledore hummed in agreement. “You have indeed correctly deduced a component of the mirror. Could you, by any chance, tell me what exactly it shows you?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a very personal question, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore smiled softly. “Ah, Slytherin house.” he said with fondness. Whether it was sincere or not, Harry couldn’t tell. “There are many great values Salazar’s house instills upon its charges,” he ignored the sour look that flashed across Charlus’s face, “though it, like the other three, has its downfalls.” his eyes twinkled at Harry. “Whether paranoia is the former or the latter, I do not know. I was not asking about you personally, Harry. Merely what the mirror generally reflects at those who seek it out?”

Harry examined the mirror closely, noticing an inscription upon it. It was in large lettering which was probably the only reason he realized it was not some long forgotten language, but what appeared to be a butchered attempt at English.

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_

‘Erised — The Mirror of Erised.’

And just like that he put it together, just as Charlus looked between Harry and Dumbledore with apparent confusion.

“I show not your face but your heart’s desire.” he answered carefully.

Dumbledore beamed at him. 

Charlus frowned. “I don’t get it, sir?”

“Don’t you? Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?"

Charlus nodded slightly. “It shows you exactly what you want to see.”

Harry winced slightly, but Dumbledore caught it. “Care to enlighten him as to his lack of true understanding, Harry?”

He didn’t, not really, but he did not dare say that. “There’s a difference between what you want to see and what your heart desires.” Harry answered measuredly. “You might want to see yourself as The Minister of Magic, but the mirror might show you something a bit different; probably related to power some way in that example.”

Dumbledore’s twinkle went up a notch. “Precisely! The word want, my boy, is a reference to the consciousness, and by extension, the mind. The word desire is often a reflection of your subconscious. Oftentimes, a person’s mind does not know what it is that they desire above all else. At least, in most cases, not to the same degree as their heart.”

Charlus nodded. “I-I get it now. Is… is that why I couldn’t look away?”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “It is but a mere piece of the puzzle that has driven far older and far wiser men than you to madness. You see, the mirror is a remarkable thing, but that does not necessarily mean it is a good thing. It shows you, on principle, the most alluring image that could possibly be presented to you in this world. That is simply the lure.” Dumbledore told the twins darkly. “The hook is far more sinister, and I implore the both of you not to return in search of this mirror, as it will be moved tomorrow night. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

Both twins nodded as Harry mentally deduced the mirror was likely some sort of dark artifact if Dumbledore was so gun shy about it. It raised the question of why it was in the school at all, but then again, it didn’t seem to be worse than a Cerberus.

“Now,” Dumbledore told them both, suppressing a yawn, “I will not punish either one of you, for curiosity is not among the sins of our world, at least not in its most innocent form. I do, however, think it high time that both of you return to the comfort and safety of your beds.”

“Of course, Headmaster.” Harry answered easily, bowing his head respectfully as he made to turn towards the door. As he did so, Charlus’s final question to Dumbledore caught him off guard for oh so many reasons.

“Professor, what do you see when you look in the mirror?”

It was so bold, so blunt, and so pigheaded, yet Harry could not help but pause to listen. He doubted very highly that Dumbledore would honestly answer that question even to Charlus, even if they were in private. With Harry too in the room, he was certain that Dumbledore would not answer the question.

Therefore, he found himself more than mildly surprised when Dumbledore adopted a rather tragic smile and told them what Harry at least suspected to be a half truth.

“I see myself, Charlus, just as I am sure you yourself do. Like you, I see myself in a world that has been cleansed of a number of the sins that have polluted the past.” his smile turned almost bitter for an infinitesimal amount of time. “Unlike you, however, the sins that have been reversed were all indirectly caused by my own youthful foolishness.”

Charlus did not seem to know what to say to that. Dumbledore just smiled as he waved his wand and summoned the silvery cloak that lay in the corner before he handed it to Charlus. Without another word, Harry and Charlus exited the room, and not until they were two halls down and Harry’s ring told him Charlus was the only one nearby did he speak again.

“He’s… a bit eccentric.” Harry started diplomatically.

Charlus snorted. “He’s absolutely bonkers.” he said fondly. “Brilliant though; greatest wizard alive!”

Harry didn’t really have an opinion on that front one way or another, so he decided it was probably best not to respond at all. 

Their footsteps echoed quietly in the halls as they walked for a few minutes before Charlus took the metaphorical plunge, his voice quiet and uncertain. “What-what did you see in the mirror?”

Harry did not break stride, but it was a near miss. He was so not used to questions so blunt and personal. It was, he supposed, one of the differences between Gryffindor and Slytherin, for better or for worse. 

“That is a rather personal question.” he said for the second time that night.

Charlus sighed and stopped dead in the hallway, turning to face Harry with fiery determination in his hazel eyes. “Look,” he said, suddenly looking about double his age as he ran his hand through his hair, “I don’t know you whatsoever, but both of us know that you’re not going to say anything like this unless I do, so, here it goes. 

I was a git, ok? I know I was. When you were sorted… It was just such a surprise, you know? We haven’t had a Potter in Slytherin in more than six hundred years, and none who weren’t Gryffindor in more than two hundred. I just… I thought you’d be a Gryffindor. I thought...” his voice cracked, “I thought we would just be brothers.”

Harry did not answer right away and Charlus was suddenly sure that he would have his words thrown back at him. Instead, Harry spoke in a soft voice that carried little emotion. 

“I saw myself in control.”

Charlus blinked. “What?”

Harry stared at his twin with those intense green eyes. “I am not telling you about my childhood.” he said pointedly, and Charlus nearly blanched at the way he spat the last word. “But without going into details, I never had any control over my life whatsoever. I had no say in what I did when I woke up. I was told what to do and I either did it, or they made my life hell.” he winced. “Well, more hellish than it already was, I guess. Even when I did what they asked, sometimes…” his voice trailed off, but Charlus did not need him to finish.

“Did they… ever hurt you?” he asked.

Harry met his brother’s eyes without faltering. “Hurt is a very broad definition, little brother.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Yes, I did.” 

He did not answer the question.

Charlus’s jaw tightened. “Is that why you were so mad at dad?”

Harry’s eyes darkened immediately. “Charlus, there are so many reasons I have for being upset with our father right now and to be honest, I’d rather not ruin such a sentimental moment by going into them.”

Charlus nodded. There was a pause and then…

“I saw our family.” Charlus said quietly. “How it should have been. You were there with me; we looked so happy together. Mum was there too.”

Harry didn’t respond right away. “We’re messed up, aren’t we?” he asked after a few moments.

Charlus rolled his eyes. “I’ve been told I’m messed up in a lot of ways, so you’ll have to be more specific.”

Harry’s lips twitched and Charlus grinned. “Both of our hearts desire things that were taken away from us at the age of one.” Harry specified. 

Charlus winced. “That’s… a bit dark, isn’t it?”

Harry smirked. “Maybe, but if all of you idiots are to be believed, me and my House thrive in darkness, so I think I’ll be alright.”

Charlus laughed, managing to muffle it with his robes before choking out a response. “Yeah, and I apparently vanquish all of it, so I think I’ll be alright too.”

This time, even Harry laughed, though he did so a lot more quietly and less openly than Charlus. He did not really like to laugh in front of people, but this moment called for it. For the sake of both himself and his brother, it was the least he could do.

**December 30th 1991.  
A Room In The Dungeons.  
7:03 AM.**

Seeing as there was nobody around, Harry could not help but gape at the room he had frequented to practice magic. Not only had Professor Hurst added a table not unlike the one in The Speaker’s Den, if admittedly quite a bit smaller, she had added several couches, a fireplace, and she seemed to have increased the size of the room itself as well.

Harry’s jaw slowly closed and a satisfied, open smile spread across his face. 

‘I suppose I met her standards and then some.’

**January 5th 1992.  
The Slytherin Common Room.  
7:14 PM.**

Harry was reading through the second year section of his Transfiguration textbook when the returning students all began to filter into the common room. He had decided it was probably best not to read one of his more useful tomes in public, and he really did want to get as far ahead as possible in his schoolwork. By this point, he had begun Occlumency exercises daily. Clearing one’s mind wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but after years of necessary self restraint, Harry figured he would manage when he reached that point.

Right now, the exercises were primarily meditative, but Harry had tried, once, to clear his mind and had experienced a certain modicum of success. He had still yet to dive head first into his intro to he Dark Arts, but it too was still something that had not escaped his focus. 

His attention was finally caught when the common room entrance admitted his two best friends — Daphne and Tracey. Immediately, the two girls spotted him in his corner and made their way over. Harry graced the two of them with a rare unguarded smile. 

“Harry!” Tracey exclaimed, bending down to wrap her arms around his neck. Harry froze. He stiffened as his heart pumped furiously, sending blood rushing into his ears but Tracey did not seem to notice. Mercifully, Daphne had always been perceptive.

“Let him breathe, Tracey.” she said, managing to sound completely and utterly casual despite the slight tension that was showing in her expression. Tracey obliged and Harry relaxed. “How was your holiday?” Daphne asked him.

“Productive.” he answered, regaining his composure as best he could. “Yours?” 

“Quite enjoyable.” Daphne said with a smile shockingly as unguarded as Harry’s had been the moment previous. Harry could tell that, whatever Daphne said, she held a certain fondness for her home and her family. 

“How about you, Tracey?”

“Oh, fantastic!” Tracey said with a broad grin. “I spent a bit of it with Daphne, but it was great to see my family again and-“

“Was it now, Davis?” 

All three of them froze at the familiar drawling voice that cut into their conversation. Harry had not heard that voice in over two months, but he recognized it at once. Tracey looked confused, but when she turned to see the passive visage of Draco Malfoy, she broke off quickly. 

He smirked. “Surprised, are you?”

“Not particularly.” Harry answered honestly. “The political tidal wave has blown over. It’s no real surprise you would choose to come back now.”

A flicker of annoyance crossed Malfoy’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

“It’s almost as if you’ve put thought into the matter, Potter.” His grey eyes met Harry’s and he did not need Legilimency to know that Draco was all too aware of who had set him up on Samhain. 

Harry shrugged. “I always try to assess any situation around me. It’s useful to plan ahead and the practice will come in handy even if it doesn’t turn out to be relevant right away. Proper planning prevents poor performance.”

Malfoy’s expression didn’t waver. “I’m sure you do, Potter, but between the two of us, I think you need more practice.”

Harry noticed that some of the people nearby were doing an oddly good job of not seeming to be paying attention to their conversation. “Your opinion is noted, if not expressly agreed with, Heir Malfoy.”

Draco sneered. “I wouldn’t expect us to agree on much, Potter. One of us makes sure the right crowd is always at his side.” he paused, allowing his eyes to fall on Tracey. “And the other associates with rule breaking mudbloods.”

There was a tense silence around them. Harry had decided long ago that blood purity was utter nonsense. It was true that he was not overly fond of muggles on principle, even though he knew it was foolish to extrapolate his family’s behaviour onto an entire population, but blood purity meant nothing. There were plenty of half bloods or muggle borns who were positively brilliant in comparison to the best purebloods of their generation. Dumbledore, for instance, and he would bet that Voldemort’s blood wasn’t pure either. If it was, she would have had no reason to hide behind an alias. His mother too had been brilliant by all accounts, and as irrational as he knew it was, he thought it was that fact in particular that caused his blood to boil at the slur. That and the fact that Tracey reared back as if she had been struck. Daphne’s eyes flashed with danger but Harry caught her eye and subtly shook his head. 

“Blood matters,” Harry said measuredly, impressed at how level his voice came out, “but ability matters more.” If Draco knew the origins of that quote, he didn’t show it. Harry was not completely sure whether he wanted or did not want Malfoy to know of them. It would be hilarious to see the look on his face if he realized Harry was quoting Gellert Grindelwald, but it may also raise questions he didn’t really feel like answering.

Draco just smiled pleasantly back at him. “Of course it does.” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity as he and his lackeys trudged off. None of them noticed the slightly hateful stare that followed them into the dormitories.

**January 6th 1992.  
The Potions Classroom.  
9:12 AM.**

Snape did not take the liberty of making a scene before the beginning of their first Potions lesson after the break. “Your marks for both the practical and theoretical mid-term tests.” he said curtly, waving his wand and causing papers to gracefully float to each student. Harry, who was sitting next to Zabini today took his and quickly glanced at the perfect O before shoving it away with a smile. “Where is Mr. Malfoy?” Snape asked, directing his gaze to Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle. “I was under the impression he would be returning to class today?”

“He’s in the Hospital Wing, Professor.” Parkinson said neutrally. “He woke up with terrible pain and boils; it looked awful.”

Harry had to try very hard to suppress a smirk. Malfoy really needed that book on wards Harry had received from Grace. It was so easy to open his curtains and pour the contents of a vial he had filled with Longbottom’s botched potion all the way back on their first day in class all over his bedsheets as he was asleep. Harry did not consider himself a sadist by any means, but he would be lying if he did not admit to taking at least a certain degree of pleasure from the screams of pain that came from Malfoy a few minutes later that woke up any in the dorm who had not managed to cast some sort of silencing or privacy spells around their beds. It turned out that only applied to Crabbe and Goyle. 

Harry had been tempted to poor some in Malfoy’s mouth, as he thought that would get the point about not spouting off the word “mudblood” across pretty nicely, but he had no idea what would happen if Malfoy swallowed the potion, and he was not nearly angry enough to risk starting a body count.

Clearly, Harry wasn’t the only one who took note of that description as from beside him, Zabini shot him a brief, sideways glance. He had seen Harry bottle that potion all those months ago, and Harry thought it safe to say the quiet boy had put two and two together. 

Snape’s jaw tightened as he nodded stiffly, but he gave no reaction aside from that. They were set to brewing a fairly standard burn cure potion. Harry and Zabini were second to finish by a mile, absolutely blowing Parkinson and Nott, who were third, out of the water. They were still second to Daphne and Tracey, but that was to be expected and Zabini quirked an eyebrow inquisitively at Harry upon their completion.

“You’ve improved a lot at this.” he noted.

Harry smiled thinly. “My best friend is a potions prodigy, Zabini.”

“Blaise.” 

Harry started. “What?”

Zabini rolled his eyes before smiling a conspiratorial sort of smile at Harry. “We’ve been partnering every second Potions lesson since September, Potter. I think being on a first name basis isn’t unreasonable.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Harry, then.”

**January 11th 1992.  
The Great Hall.  
8:38 AM.**

Harry enjoyed the atmosphere that accompanied the morning of a Quidditch match, even in spite of the noise and the fact that Slytherin would be watching as a neutral party. Ravenclaw was set to play Hufflepuff. Harry was surprised to hear a voice clearing nearby, prompting him to look up from his conversation with Daphne on something he had read in the second year section of the Potions textbook.

“Yes?”

Zabini — Blaise, he still had to get used to that, smiled warmly. “Do you three mind if I join you?”

Harry and Blaise had spoken amiably a few times in the common room since the Potions lesson five days earlier and had made a point of greeting one another politely in the corridors and such. In saying that, they hadn’t really spoken in depth since, and never around Daphne nor Tracey.

Harry quickly glanced towards his two friends. Tracey looked apprehensive and Daphne blank. “As long as you have more sense than… others, I don’t see why not.” 

Blaise smirked, clearly not missing the jab aimed at Malfoy. “More sense, more self restraint, more brains — what else could you want?”

“More modesty, perhaps.” suggested Daphne with a raised eyebrow.

Blaise’s lips twitched as he took his seat beside Harry and across from Tracey. “Modesty doesn’t get you nearly as far as confidence.” he said smoothly, causing Tracey to giggle, and Daphne and Harry to grin.

“I think we can get along, Zabini.”

“Why, Greengrass, it would be a shame to call one as beautiful as yourself by your last name. Please, call me Blaise.”

“I can’t quite return the sentiment about appreciating your beauty, but if you insist, call me Daphne.”

Harry had to bite down on his laughter. Daphne had the sharpest tongue of anyone he knew and was a master at word play. Blaise seemed more than up to the task of matching her, and if Blaise hung around more often, Harry thought it would be intriguing to bear witness to the inevitable verbal sparring that would take place.

Blaise turned to Tracey. “There are so many better names to call you than what some people come up with, Ms. Davis, and it would be quite awkward if the two of us didn’t follow the example I have set with your lovely friend.”

Tracey beamed at him. Harry’s eyes narrowed. There was more to Blaise Zabini than what met the eye. The outwardly quiet, admittedly well spoken boy seemed to be able to charm a rock. 

‘One to keep an eye on, for certain.’

**February 8th 1992.  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
1:09 PM.**

Harry and Blaise walked from The Great Hall side by side in companionable silence after lunch. In the past number of weeks, Blaise had become a fixture in Harry’s group of friends and had hung around him just as much as Tracey or Daphne. Currently, the latter two were in the library writing a Defense essay that both Harry and Blaise had already finished. As they were exiting the hall, however, Harry heard a number of voices that caught his attention. More accurately, he caught a brief snippet, but it was more than enough to intrigue him.

“Third floor — corridor — trap — hiding — over here!”

Quickly, Harry took a firm grip on Blaise’s arm, something that surprised the taller boy quite a lot if his widened eyes were any indicator. That was about as much surprise as Blaise ever showed in private, let alone in public. Harry dragged him into the alcove underneath the marble staircase but quickly realized that whoever was coming their way was planning to use it. As discreetly as he could manage, he pulled the hidden door open, something that actually caused Blaise’s face to become marred with surprise before Harry dragged him inside and closed the door behind them. Unfortunately, the completely soundproof wall ruined any chance of overhearing the conversation going on outside. 

‘Unless…’

Harry had been experimenting a bit with the whole “eavesdropping thing” that his ring was supposed to be able to do. By now, he thought he had the gist of it. Harry focused as hard as he could on the people standing just on the other side of the wall, making sure they were the only people he paid any thought to before slowly, he began to turn the ring on his finger as if it were a volume dial. Immediately, the conversation from outside came into sharp focus, and Harry held up his hand to forestall any interruptions from Blaise. 

It was incredible. There was no background noise at all, only the speech of the three people outside the wall as he could just… tell it was three people. This was perfect.

“Alright, so what’d you’d drag me in here for? Cool little place though, by the way.”

“Thanks,” answered a voice that Harry vaguely recognized as belonging to one of Ron Weasley’s brothers. One of the twins, though which he did not know. “We… uh… wanted to tell you something from a few months ago.”

“We were thinking about telling somebody, or maybe even investigating but, we wanted a second opinion.”

“Go on then.”

“You know the third floor corridor?”

“The one we’re not supposed to go into under any circumstances?”

“Under warning of a ‘very painful death’?” 

The other boy sighed. “You went in there, didn’t you?”

Harry did not hear an immediate response, but he could practically picture the Weasley twins nodding in unison.

‘Idiots.’

“Well,” the other boy, who Harry thought was Lee Jordan but wasn’t quite sure, asked, “what was in there?”

“You can’t tell anyone this.” One of the twins said sternly.

“Of course not.”

A pause, and then…

“A dog.”

“A huge dog.”

“With three heads.”

“Standing on a trap door.”

“The staff are hiding something at Hogwarts, and they’re using a three headed dog to do it.”

Harry’s jaw actually fell agape for a second before he regained control. He had known about the dog from Parkinson but the trap door, the notion the dog may be a guard for something… Those were two angles he had never considered before.

As the conversation on the other side of the wall devolved into speculation, Harry gestured for Blaise to follow, mentally tuned out the conversation, which in turn enabled the ring to do the same and began to make his way down the passage with Blaise behind him.

“May I ask what just happened?” Blaise said carefully.

“I just eavesdropped into a conversation between the Weasley terrors and Lee Jordan. At least, I’m reasonably sure it was Jordan.”

Harry didn’t need to look back to know that Blaise had rolled his eyes. “I never took you for a gossiper with your ear to the lions’ drama.”

Harry snorted. “I never took you for a big enough idiot to believe that.” Now it was Blaise’s turn to snort and Harry finally answered. “They were discussing the third floor corridor. Turns out the terrors were dumb enough to actually go inside the corridor.”

“Well,” prompted Blaise, “is Dumbledore as mad as we thought he was at the start of term feast?”

“Above and beyond, if they’re being honest.” Harry said. “Not in the way we thought though.”

“So there actually is something behind that locked door? At least, according to the Weasleys?”

Harry debated the pros and cons of lying to Blaise for all of three seconds before he decided that it didn’t really matter. He had the impression that Blaise was a lot of things, but a blabber was not one of them and he certainly was not foolish enough to go investigate for himself. 

“A Cerberus.” he answered. This time he did glance back. He wanted to catch Blaise on one of the rare moments where his mask cracked and sure enough, his dark eyes nearly bulged out of his head before he took control of the impulse.

“A Cerberus?” he asked, sounding sceptical. “We are thinking of the same thing, right?”

“A massive three headed dog.” Harry told him casually before his eyes narrowed a bit as he continued to look over his shoulder. He wanted to see Blaise’s reaction to this next part. “Sitting on a trapdoor.”

One… two… three…

“Dumbledore’s hiding something.”

Harry nodded with satisfaction. “That’s the same conclusion the terrors came to. Personally, I agree with them.”

Which would actually make a lot more sense in the context of Higgs. He figured if Higgs had gone for the trapdoor, the dog would have reacted. Perhaps the Weasley twins never tried to breach it, so the dog had paid them no mind? It would at least explain how they were still alive. 

Harry noted with some surprise that Blaise had not asked him about the ring. Blaise seemed to be a man of many secrets, so Harry supposed it was perfectly reasonable that he would not be one to pry for those of others. 

“See,” Blaise said with a conspiratorial wink, “I knew I wanted to be friends with you.”

**February 22nd 1992.**  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
9:36 AM. 

Blaise was as sharp tongued as Daphne and as it turned out, not that quiet at all once you got to know him. At times, he was sharp and cutting, but when he needed to, or more often, wanted to turn on the eloquent charm he had shown during the morning of the Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw match, he could flip that switch without a second thought. Much like Harry and Daphne, he too was very hard to read, though Harry thought him even more difficult than Daphne by a wide margin at times. 

That match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had ended with a quick Hufflepuff victory. The badgers had been trailing 60-10, but Cedric Diggory made the catch ten minutes into the match and ended the game 160-60. It was, according to many of the upper year Slytherins, many of whom were grudgingly impressed with Diggory’s talents, the fastest catch since Charlie Weasley in a match against Slytherin a few years back.

Slytherin played a match in the month of January as well. They were, unfortunately, defeated by Ravenclaw. They had led the game 150-120, but the Ravenclaw seeker, a second year by the name of Cho Chang, snagged the snitch from under Montague’s nose and had given Ravenclaw the 270-150 victory. 

February passed as mostly a blur. Harry continued with his Occlumency exercises and thought that soon, he may be ready to try actually clearing his mind for real as opposed to simply meditating. The workload in their classes increased dramatically, but Harry wasn’t bothered. He was well into the second year curriculum by this point, and thought it very likely that he would finish it by the end of the year, at least in Charms, Transfiguration, Defense, and maybe Potions. He did still need to look into Ancient Runes and possibly Arithmancy, but that was a project to undertake at a different time. 

Currently, Harry was groaning along with the rest of his house as he watched Snape slam his broomstick to the ground with obvious fury moments after Charlus had caught the snitch in under 5 minutes, winning the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff. As Harry made to follow Daphne, Blaise and Tracey out of the stands, his eyes sharpened upon something in the distance. Snape was making his way off in the opposite direction to the castle. He was, as a matter of fact, heading straight towards the forbidden forest. Harry remembered the incident with Snape and Sinestra all too well and could not help but be curious.

He pondered for about ten seconds before coming to a decision. “I’ll be back.” he told his three friends and before any of them could object, he slipped into the crowd of people, taking a long, deep breath and following after Snape at a flat sprint. 

The pursuit was rather difficult, as Harry had to find hiding places every time his breath ran out. It was made even more difficult by the fact that Snape, in true Slytherin fashion, seemed completely paranoid, as he kept throwing glances over his shoulder. Eventually, however, Harry managed to follow Snape into a large open clearing not far into the forest. He thought his hiding spot was quite well concealed, as he doubted anybody on ground level would notice him in the thick leaves and branches if they did not know where to look. He would just hold his breath every time Snape’s eyes loomed in his direction and he would be fine.

Before he could truly wonder what Snape was here for, something above him caught his attention and caused his heart to quicken. Ready for a fight of some kind, Harry glanced up, only for his jaw to fall briefly open as he spotted Charlus hovering out of Snape’s line of sight in the canopy of leaves above. Before he could ponder too long on this, there was a shimmer from near where Snape stood, and the sallow skinned Potions Master was suddenly not alone in the clearing anymore. 

“I thank you for your presence, Severus.” Dumbledore said pleasantly as he cast his eyes around the clearing and traced his wand intricately through the air. For a terrifying moment, Dumbledore’s eyes paused on the spot that Harry was hiding as he felt… something wash over him, but his disillusionment, which he had quickly kickstarted once more upon the Headmaster’s arrival, had not been dispelled. Evidently, Dumbledore did not notice Harry, as his eyes quickly landed back on Snape.

“I do not care for your niceties.” Snape said bluntly. “I care whether or not whatever purpose you had in mind was worth coming out into the middle of the bleeding forest for.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “We can not be overheard.” he told him. “After all, students are not to know of The Philosopher’s Stone.” Harry actually heard Charlus draw a sharp breath, but was near certain the two men in the middle of the clearing could not have.

‘Whatever that is, it must be what the dog is hiding.’

Snape quirked an eyebrow. “You have sworn the staff to an oath of secrecy. I fail to see why you feel the need to reinsert the point.”

“Ah yes, how dim witted of me. I apologize, Severus. In my old age, I am afraid my memory is not what it once was.” Judging by the look on Snape’s face, he was about as fooled by that lie as Harry was. “Now, have you managed to glean any information on the… fiasco, shall we call it, that was the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match?”

“No,” Snape answered flatly, “if Sinistra is under the influence of The Imperius Curse, then no effects are evident.”

“Which would mean only that it has been cast by a true master?”

Snape nodded curtly. “Indeed.” He looked at Dumbledore for a long, tense moment. “Surely we have come to the same conclusion, Dumbledore?”

“I think so.” Dumbledore answered tiredly. “But if Halloween proves anything, it is that my assumptions can be as far fetched as the next man’s.”

“You do not believe a ritual or similar such magic granted her wand immunity from Priori Incantatem?”

“It is certainly possible. You would know far better than I, Severus. I do, however, think I have, if you will forgive my lack of modesty, gifts that would render such rituals useless.”

Snape stared hard at Dumbledore for what felt like ages. “I shall take your word for it.” he told Dumbledore curtly. “When do you think the move will be made?”

“Oh, I think we have some time before that. The perpetrator will wait for the right moment, if I am not mistaken. Barring the materialization of such a moment, they will react only when they are so pressed for time that actions are necessary.”

“By the right moment,” Snape asked dryly, “you mean a time when you are not so close at hand to go rushing off after them to play hero?”

From his vantage point, a very confused Harry Potter could not see Dumbledore’s eyes clearly enough to be sure, but he was rather certain, even without seeing them that they were twinkling like mad. “Precisely!”

Snape snorted. “Your modesty is touching.”

“Modesty is simply one of my niceties you dislike so much when it is not applied to enable productivity.”

Harry could picture the sneer on Snape’s face, even though he could not make it out from his vantage point. “I will take your word for it.” he said again after a moment’s pause. “Would you like me to keep investigating?”

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary.” Dumbledore decided after a pause. “If you have found nothing as of yet, I find it unlikely that will change. We will simply have to wait until the time comes.”

“And when that time comes?”

Harry could have swore he saw Dumbledore’s eyes flicker towards Charlus’s hovering form before he answered Snape’s last question. “We do what is right, as opposed to what is easy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter turned out to be much longer than I had anticipated, but I had a lot that needed to be covered. There is one more chapter in year 1 that is longer than 10k words, and it will be the final chapter of the year.**
> 
> **Speaking of which; though it may be hard to believe, there are only four more chapters left in year 1, and I can not wait for the twist that will end the opening year of this story!**
> 
> **A few things I’d like to clear up that I know will come up in the reviews:**
> 
> **Yes, “The Speaker’s Den” is an illusion to “The Prince’s Lair” from the story “Harry Potter and The Prince of Slytherin”. I will not be copying the “Prince of Slytherin” concept, nor does the “throne like seat” share many characteristics with The Sinister Man’s “Hydra Throne”**
> 
> **That story has influenced this one for certain, probably even in more ways than I realize, but this is NOT a PoS fanfic and I have no intention of blatantly copying from The Sinister Man’s plots.**
> 
> **Nextly, some logistical things that I have changed via the power of AU, not botched:**
> 
> **I took some creative liberty with The Mirror of Erised in regards to Harry’s vision. I just want to clear up that no, it does not show the future, but exactly what it shows him is open to your own interpretation.**
> 
> **Not everybody will be able to fool Harry’s ring as easily as Dumbledore. As a matter of fact, he will be the only one to be able to do so using the method that he chose.**
> 
> **Finally, yes, in canon, you cannot summon the cloak, as displayed near the end of DH when a death eater tries and fails in Hogsmeade. Dumbledore has a rather unique advantage on that front, and for now, I will leave it at that.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, May 16th at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	15. Salazar’s Sanction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
> **Self-Promotion: I have a discord server where you can chat and read all of my chapters early. If you would like to join, simply copy the link on my profile. If you would like to dive further into the AoCverse, you can check out the story’s ever-expanding web presence by following the other links on my profile. You can do likewise to follow me on Twitter and to check out my official website.**
> 
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**February 22nd 1992.  
The Forbidden Forest.  
10:18 AM.**

Neither Harry nor Charlus moved while first Dumbledore and then Snape vacated the clearing. Only after the sound of their footsteps had faded completely did Charlus gently drift down towards the ground and allow his shoulders to sag. 

“That was… interesting.” Harry said neutrally. Him and his brother had spoken a fair amount over the last month. They had made it a point to meet up on Thursday nights in the library and study together. These sessions had often devolved into casual conversation, but neither of them were complaining at the arrangement. Harry would not quite say he was close to his brother; he still thought that would likely take some time, but he could honestly say that they were now firmly on good terms. Granger had come once. She was a handful and Harry couldn’t honestly say that he liked her, but she was tolerable. To the surprise of nobody, Weasley had not come. Nor had Daphne, but that was mostly because Harry thought if he let her, she would curse his brother to bits for his perceived part in Harry’s childhood.

Charlus snorted. “You Slytherins and your bloody understatements.” He made to speak again but Harry raised his hand to pause him before drawing his wand.

“Muffliato.” he cast, assuring that no noise would escape the clearing. 

Charlus’s eyes widened. “How do you know that spell?”

Harry raised an eyebrow in return. “How do you know that spell?”

Charlus appraised him for several heartbeats before answering. “Dad told me about it. He learned it from mum and a bunch of the aurors use it now.”

‘Better question, how the hell did Hurst know an auror grade privacy spell?’

“I saw you react to the mention of The Philosopher’s Stone.” Harry said without preamble, neatly diverting the topic of conversation to a potentially less dangerous topic. In actuality, Harry supposed it was a lot more dangerous in the grand scheme of things, but not in this exact moment in time, at least.

He had learned after a month that Charlus, unlike many of his own housemates, was not one for subtlety. 

Charlus bit his lip. “Promise you won’t go running to Snape if I tell you?”

Harry frowned. “We’re both breaking a number of school rules right now so I would only implicate myself at the same time. Plus, if you haven’t noticed, he might not outright bully me like he does you, but he’s not exactly my biggest fan either.”

Charlus looked sheepish. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” he hesitated. “You remember the whole mess on Halloween?”

“Vividly.”

Charlus nodded. “Yeah, well… uh… me and Ron sort of… snuck out to listen into the teacher’s staff meeting.”

‘Gryffindors...’

Technically, Harry was doing something similar, but he also wasn’t doing so in the midst of a whole school lockdown and putting himself under the scrutiny of the entire staff, visible or not.

“The cloak.” Harry asked, having pieced together what the silvery item Charlus had carried on Christmas was. He nodded and Harry frowned. “And Dumbledore didn’t know?”

Charlus looked puzzled. “Course not, we were invisible.”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes or press his face into his hands at his brother’s idiocy. Charlus really wasn’t bad when you got him on his own and away from Weasley, but he was so daft sometimes.

“Yes, but he still should have been able to find you using magic even if you were invisible.” he frowned. “I have a hard time thinking Dumbledore of all people wouldn’t be overly cautious.”

Charlus shrugged. “The whole school was in lockdown, he probably didn’t think anyone could get out.”

Harry could not see how Albus Dumbledore, by all accounts the greatest wizard since Merlin himself could have been fooled by two first years and an invisibility cloak. The only logical conclusion was that he knew that Charlus and Weasley were there and had done nothing about it. As for a motive, Harry was flummoxed, but he could see no other realistic possibility. 

“Right,” Harry said sceptically, “anyways, it’s not really that important; carry on.”

Charlus blinked at Harry’s change of pace. “Uh… right. Well, Dumbledore mentioned the whole thing with Higgs and checked all the teacher’s wands for the Imperius curse since he thought no student could have smuggled in the troll and they figured Higgs did it as a diversion to get to the third floor corridor-“

“So he died because of that three headed monster behind the door?” Harry asked for specification. Pansy had certainly seemed sure but as in tune as she always was with the Hogwarts rumour mill, Harry wanted to confirm the fact once and for all.

Charlus grimaced. “Yeah, Dumbledore said it was… uh… messy — wait! How the hell do you know about that?”

Harry smiled easily at Charlus. “The Hogwarts rumour mill is a terrible thing, but sometimes, if you know who to ask and what to look for, it can be dead useful.’ It was actually almost the truth. “My turn to ask a question. The Imperius curse let’s another wizard control you entirely, right?” The only context he had ever heard the curse mentioned in was “The Imperius Defense”, which had apparently got a lot of death eaters out of Azkaban.

“Yeah,” Charlus told him darkly, “it’s one of the Unforgivable Curses. Using any of the three would land you a life sentence in Azkaban.”

Remembering Hurst’s words on Samhain, Harry suspected very much that he knew the second, though the third was certainly something to look into. 

“Right, continue.”

Charlus blinked at him. “It’s bloody off putting how quickly your mind moves on.” he told Harry. “Anyways, they talked about how the aurors would have to come in, which is why the school was shut down for about a week, by the way; dad was on the team, the leader, actually. Flitwick said something about them investigating the third floor corridor. He said something about a stone.” Charlus scowled for some reason that Harry could not ascertain. “Dumbledore promised that wouldn’t happen and that was pretty much the end of it until we were at Hagrid’s.”

“Hagrid’s?” Harry asked sceptically. He had nothing against Hagrid. The man was actually, from what Harry could tell, extremely kind hearted if nothing else, but he also wasn’t the brightest torch on the bracket. 

“Yeah,” Charlus said uncomfortably, “don’t… uh… tell anyone this bit either, but Hagrid sort of let slip something he definitely wasn’t supposed to. I… uh… sort of messed up and mentioned the stone and the trapdoor in front of Hagrid and Hermione — me and Ron weren’t really friends with her yet. Anyhow, Hermione asked what kind of stone could be worth hiding like that, and Hagrid told us to keep our noses out of it. He said that it was between Professor Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel. Hey!” Charlus exclaimed suddenly. “Do you know who Flamel is by any chance? The three of us, me, Ron and Hermione have been looking for months now!”

“No.” Harry answered honestly.

“Could you find out, do you think? No offence, Harry, but we think the information is somewhere in the restricted section, and Slytherin has a bit of a… uh… dodgy crowd.”

Harry rolled his eyes and seriously debated telling off his brother but he didn’t bother. “Could I find out — probably. Am I going to try — no.” Lie, he was definitely going to try and find out, but he had no intention of telling his bold headed brother. Charlus would probably rush head first into the corridor as soon as he figured out the whole puzzle. 

Remembering the recent conversation the two of them had overheard, Harry was pretty sure Flamel had something to do with the Philosopher’s Stone, so that was at least a start. Vaguely, Harry remembered hearing of that before. The muggles had thought it was something to do with turning metal into gold, he thought, but he doubted it was that simple in the magical world. He had learned since his integration into Magical Britain that many of the myths that muggles had told for centuries had their roots in real life magic. He had also learned, however, that they rarely, if ever had the whole tale right, and he suspected this was just another occasion where there was way more to the story than the muggles had pieced together.

Charlus looked incredulous. “Why not?”

“Because Hagrid’s right.” Harry said dryly. “You are an eleven year old boy, Charlus. You have no business looking into anything that’s been hidden so thoroughly. Anything involving a Cerberus is way above your level.”

Charlus bit his lip. “We think whatever is being hidden here is what those dark wizards tried to steal from Gringotts over the summer. Dad took something out of the family vault the day of the break-in and he told me that it was our vault that had been compromised.” he said hopefully. “We think… we think Snape is trying to steal it for them.”

Harry blinked. “You what?”

“You know about the Gringotts-“

“Charlus, I wasn’t talking about that. That’s actually a very plausible theory, but Snape’s definitely not involved with this.”

Charlus looked at him exasperatedly. “Harry, he cursed-“

“Your broom? No, he didn’t.” When Charlus just gaped at him, Harry rolled his eyes. “You have to stop assuming that you and your friends are the only people who can figure anything out around here. I watched Granger’s little stunt through omnioculars and you know what? Snape wasn’t the only one looking dead at you and muttering like mad.”

Now, Charlus looked taken aback. “Who else then?”

“Sinistra.”

“But Snape hates-“

“Yes, he does, which is exactly why he wouldn’t try and kill you in public. He knows that he would be one of the top suspects, especially with your father as a Senior Auror and your godfather as a detective for the DMLE.”

Charlus frowned. “But you can’t know it was Sinistra if they were both-“

“I couldn’t, but I can now.” his twin looked confused. “I’m not one to worship Dumbledore even if I’ve got nothing against him either, but I highly doubt Snape could get away with lying to his face. If Dumbledore is so certain Snape didn’t do it on top of the fact that it makes no sense, I’m sorry, Charlus, but Snape didn’t do it.”

There was a long pause. “Fine then!” Charlus grumbled, clearly not convinced. “Even if it isn’t Snape, shouldn’t we try and find out what these people are going after?”

“We… are… eleven!” Harry reiterated. “Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Snape, Hurst, they all know what’s being guarded and they can do a much better job of protecting it then we can. No, Charlus, I’m sorry, but I won’t be finding out anything about Flamel or The Philosopher’s Stone for you.” Harry emphasized the “for you” bit in his mind, but his twin did not need to know that.

Charlus sighed. “Fine,” he said, “have it your way.”

**February 22nd 1992.  
The Speaker’s Den.  
10:03 PM.**

For pretty much the rest of the day, there was a war waging inside of Harry’s mind. He wanted to tell his friends about everything involving the stone, but he just didn’t find it easy to trust anybody. There was also the problem that the Slytherin common room was practically a breeding ground for eavesdroppers. Harry had debated bringing them all down to the room deep in the dungeons, but he had decided that such a thing was impractical and after doing a bit of reading in some of the more personal tomes left in The Den centuries earlier, he thought that, if strictly necessary, the place provided him with a contingency plan. 

Needless to say, Blaise, Daphne and Tracey had been more than a little bit surprised when Harry hurried the three of them into The Speaker’s Den. He could only imagine how shocked their faces would have been if he’d have used Parseltongue to enter, but he simply used the English password he had chosen, “Durskaban.” It was overdramatic to be certain, but Harry was positive that nobody would be guessing that password even if they somehow saw them enter, something his sixth sense which the ring provided him with made near impossible.

“Harry, what is this place?” Daphne asked in amazement as she eyed the serpentine throne, the emerald walls and the bookshelves with rare, unmasked awe. 

“Incredible is what it is.” Blaise agreed softly, running his fingers over the table cloth. Tracey just seemed to be frozen, gawking around the room as if she could not believe the sight in front of her. Blaise’s attention shifted to Harry as he studied him with a measured expression. “This isn’t a new discovery, is it?”

“Depends on what you define as new.” Harry told him. “I found it the night of Christmas while you lot were gone. It was easier to sneak around then and it gave me a chance to test this.” Harry held up the ring on his finger.

“Ah,” Blaise nodded, “so that’s how you did it then.” 

“Did what?” Daphne asked, confused.

“I eavesdropped on the Weasley twins and their friend Jordan a couple of weeks ago through a soundproof wall. Blaise never asked, so I never answered.”

“So that’s why you always wear that ring?” Tracey asked him, astonished. “It lets you eavesdrop on conversations?”

Harry smirked. “Oh, Tracey, it does so much more than that.” Slowly, dramatically, Harry took a long, measured breath and faded straight from existence. 

Tracey’s jaw fell open and even Daphne and Blaise were wide eyed and shocked. A second later, Harry let his breath out and flickered back into sight. 

“You moved.” Blaise said, even more surprised.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I was invisible and the thing that surprised you most is that I moved?”

“Shut up, Potter, you know there was more to that then you realized.” Blaise cut across him, though his lips had twitched. “I’m assuming that’s a disillusionment charm built in, which is unbelievably impressive. When you’re under a disillusionment charm, you’re not supposed to be able to move without giving yourself away. The giveaway would be nothing major, but there would be a shimmer in the air or something.” he looked pointedly at Daphne and Tracey. “I don’t know about you two, but I didn’t see a thing.” 

Mutely, they both shook their heads.

Harry frowned. “Ok, for one thing, that is actually very odd, but I’m not going to complain. For another, how do you know of that spell? I’ve never even heard of it?”

“Family business, I’m afraid.” Blaise told him with a shrug. “Nothing overly important; mother’s just paranoid.”

“I would be too if I were her.” Daphne muttered deliberately loud enough for Blaise to hear her.

“Yes, because there definitely haven’t been rumours floating around about the Greengrass family for centuries.”

“What rumours?” Harry asked, looking between Blaise and Daphne. 

Blaise looked surprised. “You… actually haven’t heard anything about my mother?” His voice was measured and careful.

Harry scowled at him. “My apologies, Zabini, but I try not to concern myself with the personal lives of my classmates’ mothers.”

Blaise smirked. “How perfectly noble of you.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“I’ll let Daphne do it, since she seems so eager.” Blaise did not sound annoyed, he just looked exceedingly bored. 

“His mother has married six men and they have all died mysteriously.” Daphne answered dryly.

“The idiots even call her the Black Widow.” Blaise added, seemingly amused by the fact.

“And has she… you know…” Tracey trailed off.

‘Sometimes, I wonder how that girl is a Slytherin.’

Blaise’s face was impassive. “I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew.” he said by way of an answer. “I will say this though,” he added and his eyes flicked towards Harry. Harry figured he thought he would abandon him or something, which was ridiculous. “The Zabini family doesn’t need money, nor have we in my life time, so the idiots saying she’s trying to get rich are imbeciles.”

“As interesting as all of this is,” Daphne said with mock interest and a sweet smile, “it still doesn’t explain why you picked now to show us this place, Harry. I know you; it’s not that you don’t trust us, but you wouldn’t show us this place if you didn’t have a good reason.”

“You don’t do anything without a good reason.” Blaise added, nodding in agreement.

If one did not count curiosity as a set reason, that was not completely true, but Harry was happy to let them think that. Harry looked between the three of them. “As best as I can gather, this room is warded to the teeth. Dumbledore could be standing right outside the entrance right now and I doubt he would hear a thing.”

Blaise whistled. “That is my kind of HQ.” 

Daphne snorted. “And you say that your mother is paranoid.”

“It was Potter who brought us here, not me.”

“It was you who just implicitly recommended it is a headquarters.”

“Do you disagree?”

“That’s hardly the point, is it?”

“You two are impossible.” Harry noted as Tracey watched them as one might a highly anticipated world tennis final. 

“Yet you keep us around.” Blaise pointed out with a smirk.

“You might blow my mind and wind up being useful, Zabini.” Harry said casually, which actually made Blaise laugh. Daphne smirked appreciatively and Tracey giggled. “Now,” he told them, his voice becoming more serious, “if I’ve managed to decode Old English as well as I think I have, which took a lot of time spent with library books, by the way, this room has a second purpose.” The three of them fell deadly quiet. “Anything spoken in this room can be placed under Salazar’s Sanction. Best I can piece together is that it is a ridiculously powerful confidentiality oath. It won’t actually hurt you or do anything negative to your magic if you try and break it, but it will make it impossible for you to speak of anything classed under it to anyone who doesn’t know, even if you don’t know they’re listening.”

For several seconds, the room was silent. 

“And I thought you were paranoid.” Daphne said to Blaise just as Blaise said, “You’re learning.” 

“Never mind.” Daphne said with mock disgust. “You’re just as paranoid as I thought you were.”

“Why Greengrass, that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

“Why Zabini, I’ll make you tell me a bunch of nice things if you don’t promptly shut your mouth.”

“I like this one,” Blaise told Harry, wrapping an arm around Daphne since he was one of the few first years taller than her and therefore in a good position to do so, “it’s got fangs.”

“Sharp ones, too.” Harry said absentmindedly as Daphne elbowed Blaise hard in the ribs, causing him to slide his arm away from her. Tracey was cracking up.

“Are you going to use this oath on us then?” Daphne asked. She didn’t sound accusing, didn’t even sound adverse, just curious.

“Do it.” Blaise told him. All three of them looked at him. “What?” he asked with a roll of his eyes. “I never denied that I was paranoid. I can’t speak for these lovely ladies, but personally, I’m not planning to blab. At the same time,” he said louder, lifting his hands to stall any objections, “I’m also a Slytherin which means, whether you like it or not, I could be blackmailed or bribed to tell somebody the information, or somebody could just eavesdrop on a conversation or such.” 

“Is whatever you’re going to tell us actually that serious though?” asked Tracey.

“Yes.” Blaise and Daphne both answered at once before mock glaring at one another.

“Ladies first.” Blaise said with a mock bow. 

Daphne stuck out her leg and tripped him as he bowed, though Blaise managed to regain his balance. “Harry wouldn’t have brought up this Salazar’s Sanction if it wasn’t.”

“Got it in one.” Harry told his two friends and smiled at Tracey. “Are any of you opposed to the sanction then?”

“You’re sure it will actually stop us instead of just — oh, I don’t know… killing us, aren’t you Harry?”

“Reasonably.”

Daphne sighed. “And you have the nerve to call me impossible.” A moment’s pause. “I have no objections.”

“Nor do I.” seconded Blaise.

Tracey hesitated and looked nervously between her three friends.

“If you’re uncomfortable, Tracey-“

“No,” she said with fiery determination, “no, do it!”

Harry looked at each of them, giving all three of them in turn one last chance to back down before he raised his wand and spoke in a loud, clear voice. He was only thankful he did not have to use Parseltongue. Sanction or not, he still wanted to keep anything too abnormal, let alone frowned upon to himself. 

‘Nobody likes a freak.’

“I, Harry James Potter, rising member of Salazar’s noble house hereby call upon my newly forged connection with the greatest of the Hogwarts four and the legacy which he has left behind. In doing so, I hereby invoke Salazar’s Sanction upon The Speaker’s Den. As magic is my witness.” There was no visible response to his words, but all three of them felt the cold impression of… something close around their chest, as if something cold, oppressive and powerful had taken hold of their hearts. It was not painful, not even unpleasant, but it was very unnerving.

“Well that was beautifully dramatic.” Blaise said a minute or so later in a rather chipper voice that broke the oppressive silence that had befallen the four of them. “Well, take it away Harry, my good chap!”

First, Harry filled Daphne and Tracey in on the bit he had told Blaise two weeks ago. Daphne seemed suitably pissed off that he had not told her earlier, but she had the grace not to make a scene about it. 

“Well,” he said, foreboding heavy in his voice, “I think I know what the thing is guarding.” he paused. “Well, I actually have no idea what the thing is guarding, but I know what it’s called.” 

Blaise snorted. “How Gryffindorishly honest of you.”

“You’ve got the houses mixed up again, Blaise. Those are the lovely badgers you’re thinking of.”

“Oh, my bad. Red and yellow just blend together to me, you know?”

“As interesting as this banter is,” Daphne cut him off, “what is it called?”

“The Philosopher’s Stone.”

Tracey looked as if she had heard the name somewhere before but couldn’t place it, but Daphne actually gasped and Blaise, for the first time in Harry’s memory, allowed his jaw to fall wide open.

“Ok,” Harry deadpanned, “so I’m taking it you two know what it is?”

“Yes.” Blaise answered sharply. “I’m surprised you don’t.”

“I’m not,” Daphne added darkly, “not with your…” but she paused, eyes widening for a second, “you haven’t told them yet, have you?” she added softly.

“No, but I suppose they can no what they have to for context.” he said flatly.  
“I was raised by muggles.” he spat, causing Tracey to gasp and Blaise’s face to actually flush red.

“You were what?!” he asked him.

“Yes,” he said darkly, “it’s as atrocious as it sounds. My father barely coped with the pressure of raising The-Boy-Who-Lived, so you can imagine how he felt about his brother.” In truth, Harry didn’t really fault James’s reasoning, but he thought his solution was atrocious and was still a long way from forgiving him, even if the two of them had exchanged a few friendly letters back and forth over the course of the school year.

“That’s criminal!” Blaise snarled. Blaise was not one of those Slytherins who just went and threw around the words “mudblood” and “blood traitor” but Harry had a pretty good idea how he felt about actual muggles. If truth be told, Harry held absolutely nothing against muggleborns, but muggles themselves… Well, he wasn’t about to go commit homicide, but he would never be fond of them. Judging by the look in Daphne’s eyes, she didn’t think criminal was the half of it, but then again, she knew more than either Blaise or Tracey.

“As interesting as my childhood would undoubtedly be to you,” he said, a bit more coldly than intended, “would one of you pureblood prats care to explain what this mystical stone is?”

“It’s the pinnacle of alchemy.” Daphne explained reverently. Harry absentmindedly thought how typical it was of Daphne to answer with an illusion to one of the most advanced forms of potion making known to man, but he let it slide. “It’s been called one of the greatest magical creations of all time. It’s a stone that can change any metal to gold and that can create an elixir that makes the drinker immortal… sort of.”

Harry had to applaud himself for his correct assumptions about the muggle myths and he could definitely see the appeal of such a stone But at the moment, Harry was rather fixated upon what was frankly an unacceptable way to end an explanation. “Sort of?” 

“If you were to actually kill them,” Blaise said conversationally, “they’d die as normal, just as they would if they were to fall off a cliff or something. The stone’s elixir makes sure they’ll never die of natural causes. The man who created it has lived for centuries.”

“That was Flamel, right?” Tracey asked. “I knew I’d heard of it somewhere!”

‘Of course it was.’

“Yes.” Daphne answered 

“Isn’t he like… seven hundred?” 

Harry’s eyes widened.

“Something like that.” Blaise answered dryly before looking at Harry. “I don’t suppose you have anymore earth shattering revelations to share with us?”

“Er… maybe.” 

Blaise sighed. “Of course you do.” After a pause he rolled his eyes. “Go on then?”

“You all remember the Gringotts break in?”

“Vividly.” Daphne said archly. 

“Well, Charlus and his friends reckon that whoever broke into Gringotts was going for the stone and that they’ll try to take it from Hogwarts too. Apparently, my father picked something up for Dumbledore the same day of the break-in.” 

“That’s rather ominous.” decided Blaise.

“My brother thinks it’s Snape.” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. Tracey looked as if she might agree with that sentiment, but she did not voice that opinion.

“How incredibly dimwitted of him.” Blaise drawled, clearly amused.

“For once, Zabini, we’re in agreement.”

“Good to know you have some sense in that pretty little head of yours, Greengrass.”

“Bite me, Zabini.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Harry let the argument devolve a bit as they all took seats, none of them taking the throne like chair. He didn’t really have a purpose for telling his friends all of this beyond learning about the stone, but it was, in a way, nice to have all of that off of his chest and if nothing else, Harry thought the conspiratorial debate that went on that night in The Speaker’s Den may have served to bring the group closer together.

**March 6th 1992.  
A Room In The Dungeons.  
7:00 PM.**

“Tonight,” Professor Hurst told him, “we will be looking at a spell that none would call dark, but one that is probably the most dangerous spell I have taught you thus far. It is not exceedingly dangerous, but if you mean only to harm your opponent, mind you do not aim somewhere vital.” She snapped her wand towards one of the training dummies without warning.

“Diffindo.”

A long, deep gash appeared in the dummy’s chest and it fell to its knees while the magic of the dummy itself allowed it to mend. “The cutting curse.” she told him. “A simple Protego is enough to stop it, but it would tear through any Aegis Vocar shield and if the caster’s intent is particularly vicious and well focused, it can be a rather dangerous spell. As well as, of course, if a vital area is struck.”

Harry practiced the curse for a while. It took him a number of tries before he got it for the first time. It was an early fourth year spell, so that was not too surprising. Before the end of the lesson, Harry had managed it, and Professor Hurst graced him with a rare smile before tapping her wand against her wrist to check the time. 

“Well, that went rather well and we have some time remaining. Your arsenal now is far more versed than when you first entered this room, so, if you are willing, I think you are ready for a mock duel.”

Harry felt apprehension rise up within him. “You’re certain, Professor?”

“I am.” she responded with a reassuring smile. “I will not be looking to strike you down as much as I will be aiming to defend myself and give you some things to think about. I assure you, no harm will befall you during the practice.” 

Harry hesitated for only a second before nodding, lifting his wand in a defensive posture and taking the stance Professor Hurst had shown him all those months ago. She bowed and he reciprocated. “Normally, a mediator would begin the duel, but as I am reasonably confident in my abilities, I will start on your move.”

Harry nodded, hesitated, and snapped his wand up towards Hurst, opening with a whispered cutting curse. Within a split second, Hurst had batted the spell aside and sent a beam of red light towards Harry that he thought was the disarming spell. Instead of blocking, Harry sidestepped, which he had been told was always the better option if possible and fired back a bludgeoning curse that Hurst sidestepped and returned. 

The duel did not last long. 

Within a minute or so, Harry had taken a powerful bludgeoning curse to the ribs and sat down hard. Hurst had summoned his wand a second or so later. They had gone twice more. By the third duel, Harry had lasted a bit longer, though he had still not come close to landing anything on his professor.

“One more.” she told him, taking her stance and prompting Harry to do the same. They traded spells for about thirty seconds before Hurst decided to make it interesting. “Flagrete.”

Harry’s eyes widened. He had never heard that incantation before, but he had read about it in his book on non-lethal curses. It was a modification of the Incendio spell, another from the book that Harry had practiced and mastered on his own time. The problem with Incendio was that it granted the caster no ability to manipulate the fire beyond where it was directed and how much was summoned. Flagrete, however, allowed the person to mould the fire with their intent. For Hurst, her intent turned out to be fiery ropes which shot towards Harry. Absentmindedly, he noted how grateful he was that Hurst had chosen to duel him with mostly verbal incantations for tonight.

He sidestepped, but his leg seared. One had nicked him. Annoyed, Harry decided to get more creative with the arsenal Hurst had helped him bolster.

“Aguamenti!”

They had touched on the water conjuration spell briefly and Hurst had been suitably impressed when Harry pulled it off. Granted, it took him the entire practice and it had been weak, but it was a sixth year conjuration, if admittedly one of, if not the easiest one. Apparently, this had something to do with the physical composition of a person and its relationship with their magic. Hurst had explained to Harry that since so much of the human body was made up of water, one’s mind, and by extension, the magic they wielded instinctively understood water on a level that rendered the spell less difficult to cast. Apparently, when dealing with conjurations, the visualization bit was the most difficult, so with those elements rendered less essential through the aforementioned means, it made the spell by far the easiest conjuration. That was how Hurst had explained it to him, anyway. 

Harry had practiced some more on his own time and now, it was a steady, powerful stream of water that shot from his wand and doused the flames. He turned his wand on Hurst, intending on spraying her in the face. She avoided the stream, but it did splash her robes and shoes. With a gleam in his eye, Harry smirked.

“Glacius.” 

Suddenly, the water that had hit the ground around Hurst’s feet froze and she stumbled, not seeming to have been expecting that. Harry sent a disarming charm, a cutting curse, a knockback jinx and a bludgeoning curse her way in quick succession. Perhaps the most useful thing he had been taught was the art of chaining spells together. If one could quickly chain the wand movements for several spells together, they needed only the final incantation and the visualized intent for the prior volley. It was not nearly as ideal as non verbal casting, but it was an advanced skill for a third or fourth year, let alone a first. 

Hurst deflected the first spell but lost balance again and for a second, Harry was sure she would fall. That was until her wand twitched towards the ground and she rose several feet above the spellfire and rained her own volley down upon Harry. He managed to hold her off for a moment, but as she chained her own spells together and conjured ropes from air, the duel ended. 

“That was very well done, Harry.” Hurst commended after helping him to his feet and healing the burn on his leg. “I did not expect the chain attack nor the conjuration of water. You have greatly improved on both.”

He smiled sheepishly back up at her. Compliments were still something he was slowly growing accustomed to. “Thank you, Professor. When you told me to practice on my own time, I took it seriously.”

“Clearly.” she said with a small smile. “Well, it seems the time is growing late. You should return to your dormitory, but I wanted you to know how impressed and proud I am with how far you have come.”

An odd, warm feeling rose up in Harry’s chest. Proud — she was proud of him — nobody had ever been proud of him before. “Thank you, Professor.” he paused. Asking questions was still quite difficult around adults, if admittedly less so than at the beginning of the year. With Professor Hurst, however, it had become quite easy by comparison to other adults. “Professor?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“How do you just bat spells away without a shield?”

She hesitated. “That is… a rather advanced skill.”

“Yes, I’m sure, but can you tell me how you do it?”

She appraised him, but did not deny him the information; she never seemed to deny him the information. “The incantation is Averto and it is a spell that cannot be performed verbally. In addition, one must either, A, know which spell is coming their way and visualize the spell’s effects and the appropriate counter before striking the spell with the tip of their wand just before impact. Or, B, put a sufficiently greater amount of power into the deflection than your attacker put into the curse. Without knowing what spell is coming your way, I doubt I need to warn you of the dangers of the second method?”

Harry nodded. Non-verbal casting as a whole was certainly out of his reach for now, but what better introduction than something so useful? If nothing else, it would, even if nothing else could manage, surely get him the O+ he wanted on the end of year exam in Professor Hurst’s subject.

**March 8th 1992.  
The Library.  
7:48 PM.**

Harry sighed in relief as finally, he looked up from his essay for Snape. It was a lot more than the man had asked for, but if you wanted an outstanding from Snape, that was a necessity. “Daphne?” he asked, as she, along with Tracey and Blaise were working on their own essays for various subjects at the table. Normally, the four of them would work in the room in the dungeons, or even The Speaker’s Den on rare occasions when they were sure they could get in unnoticed. Today however, they had required the near endless resources of the Hogwarts Library.

“Hmm?”

“If I look over your Transfiguration essay and add suggestions for any points that I think will bump it up, will you do the same for my Potions one?”

“I suppose.” 

He smiled, ignoring the mock glare Tracey shot his way for already being finished and lazed back in his seat, allowing his eyes to roam over the library. As they did, they paused on the doorway. There was Longbottom, of all people, with his legs completely stuck together, looking like he could hardly walk.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” he told his friends, smoothly getting to his feet and striding over towards Longbottom, plastering a look of mild concern onto his face as he walked. “Excuse me, Heir Longbottom?”

Longbottom jolted and would have fallen onto the back of his head had the wall behind him not kept him upright. “Heir P-P-Potter?” he asked nervously.

Harry smiled disarmingly at the boy. “Relax, Longbottom. if I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it when we were alone in the hospital wing.” Longbottom did relax, if only a little. “What happened to your legs?” The Gryffindor boy made to answer but snapped his mouth closed, looking hesitant. Harry sighed. “A Slytherin, then?”

Hesitantly, Longbottom nodded. “Malfoy!” he spat hatefully, blushing furiously with embarrassment. “He-he… oh, sorry… you’re probably friends with him, aren’t you?”

Harry scowled. “Finite Incantatem.” he said clearly, waving his wand towards Neville and dispelling the curse. The Gryffindor looked shocked. “If that doesn’t answer your question, Longbottom, then here you go. I have no love lost for Malfoy. He’s an arrogant prat without an ounce of true cunning or ambition. He is the worst representation of Slytherin house and I would be very grateful if you didn’t judge me and my friends based on how Malfoy acts.”

Longbottom looked shell shocked. “Of-of course not.” he said, still clearly awestruck. 

Harry snorted. “Come off it, Longbottom. Surely you realize that not everybody in the same house and year are friends?” he looked pointedly at him. “I don’t see you hanging around with Weasley and Finnigan, by example.” Conveniently, Harry forgot to mention his brother.

Neville flushed. “I-I don’t really have many friends, actually.”

As immoral as such a thing might have been, Harry could have smiled in victory. Longbottom had made this whole thing way too easy. “Well then, how about you come work with mine? None of us like Malfoy and we’ll all treat you decent. I’ll show you how to counter the leg-locker that Malfoy hit you with too once we’re out of the library. It’ll work on pretty much any spell like that.”

Longbottom looked awed. “Y-y-you’re sure?”

Harry smiled widely. “Positive.”

**March 9th 1992.  
The Potions Classroom.  
9:11 AM.**

“Your task,” barked Snape, “is to brew me an acceptable rendition of a headache cure before the end of this class. Begin.”

“Apologies, Blaise, but I have a different partner in mind today.” Harry said with an apologetic smile. He got to his feet and, shocking all in the room in the process, quickly crossed the divide between the Slytherins and Gryffindors. Once he had done so, sauntered right on up to Neville, who had quickly insisted upon first names the night prior while Harry was helping with his Potions essay. The way Harry did it made it seem as if it was nothing at all out of the ordinary.

“Would you like to work together today, Neville?” Harry asked, smiling. 

Neville looked more shocked than he had at any point the night before. “Why would you want to work with me?” he asked in awe. “I’m rubbish at Potions, I’ll just mess it up.”

Harry was acutely aware that the entire class, plus probably Snape were watching the exchange curiously. Some were a lot more subtle about it than others, but Harry was sure they were all watching.

“I don’t think you’re rubbish,” Harry said easily, shooting a glare towards Finnigan, whom Neville had often partnered with and who had tried to curse Harry several times at the beginning of the year with no success, “I just don’t think you’ve had very good partners.” Finnigan glared right back as Harry smiled innocently at the hot tempered Gryffindor before returning his full attention onto Neville. “If you don’t want to-“

“No, no, I want to.” Neville said eagerly. If nothing else, Harry was regarded as one of the best students in the class; likely second behind Daphne. Harry smiled at him again and this time it was completely genuine. Neville could be useful to him for certain, but Harry could just tell the boy had potential in leaps and bounds. If he could only help Neville with that confidence… well, he was already an all around decent bloke and could probably become a more than decent wizard.

“Perfect! Let’s get started then!”

Miraculously, Harry managed to prevent Neville from blowing anything up during the lesson. There had been several close calls, mainly when Snape loomed near, but if nothing else, Neville had no problems following Harry’s instructions and by the end of the lesson, they turned in a potion that had no obvious flaws. Mind you, it wasn’t Harry’s best, far from it, and Malfoy and Nott, as well as Blaise and Parkinson, Granger and Thomas and of course, Daphne and Tracey had actually finished before them, but Harry considered it a win nonetheless. 

When they left the class, Tracey was throwing Harry some not so subtle, very inquisitive looks, but Daphne was just leveling him with a calculating, icy look and Blaise was smirking at him knowingly.

**March 21st 1992.**  
The Great Hall.  
8:11 AM. 

Harry, Daphne, Blaise and Tracey took seats with three of their fourth year friends, Calypso and the Carrows the morning of the Slytherin versus Hufflepuff match. Cassius looked as nervous as he had for the match against Gryffindor months earlier but this time, he was seated with the Quidditch team. Best Harry could work out, the only reason they had not sat together for that opening match had something to do with the death of their seeker, as it seemed like Slytherin tradition for the team to sit together the morning of a match. Harry shot him what he hoped was an encouraging smile and Cassius nodded back to him in thanks. 

Harry and his friends made a point of sitting with the fourth years at least once a week and had done so now for the past few months. The upper years had by now accepted all of Harry’s friends without issue, even Tracey, even if the Carrows still shot her the odd glare for her occasional bluntness. 

“Good day for flying.” Blaise said casually and it was true. The ceiling high, high above them displayed cloudless blue skies and faultless rays of sunlight that would not have been out of place in a muggle utopia. 

“It is.” Harry said a bit longingly.

“You really love it, don’t you?” Daphne asked him. “I mean, you’re very good at it, but I was never really sure.”

He shrugged. “I don’t care much for the lessons.” he said honestly. “I’d love to take my own broom for a spin without restraints if I had one.”

“You’ll have to come to the manor this summer.” she told him. “I’m not really one for flying much, but I go out sometimes and we have a collection of fairly good brooms. They’re nothing like your brother’s Nimbus, but they’re all quite good.”

Harry smiled a genuine smile. “That does sound like a good idea.”

“Have you never flown freely?” Calypso asked him. That girl was as perceptive as she was attentive, and she was both to be certain.

“No.” he answered shortly. It was not an impolite tone of voice that he used, but it was one he had mastered over the year that made it very clear he was not keen to answer any questions. 

She raised her eyebrow. “I was meaning to speak with you, Harry.” she told him. “Me, Hestia, Flora and Cassius practice duelling and some other magic and such every Saturday night. We won’t tonight, since hopefully there will be a massive after party, but we were wondering if you would like to join us next Saturday?”

Harry picked up on a few things. The Carrows did not look at him as Calypso made that statement. The invitation was not necessarily closed to his friends, but they were not exactly included in it either. And the way she said “and other magic and such” hinted that not everything practiced there was completely legal.

He smiled graciously back at her without pause. “Thank you, Calypso, I’d love to join you next Saturday.”

Before he knew it, Harry and his friends were packed into the stands to watch their house take on Hufflepuff. Very early on, it was apparent Slytherin was by far the superior team. They went up 60-0 before Hufflepuff scored their first goal, and Slytherin scored another three before Hufflepuff struck again. 

The most interesting thing that happened during the match was not Slytherins dominance though. Nor was it Diggory’s too late catch of the snitch that brought Hufflepuff within ten points, but still handed them the loss. No, the most interesting part of the match happened in the ensuing chaos of the match’s completion. He did not, unfortunately hear what was said, but to say Harry was shocked when Neville Longbottom threw himself at Draco Malfoy, knocking the blonde to the floor as the Gryffindor unloaded punches on him would have been a massive understatement. Before he knew it, Charlus and Ron had entered the fray, as had Crabbe, Goyle and Nott. Harry’s hand twitched towards his wand, but Daphne’s “don’t you dare” stare made him falter. 

In the end, Malfoy left with a black eye and busted lip, Neville with a bloody nose, Charlus and Nott... well, he wasn’t sure, their duel had sort of spiralled out of control and they had been surrounded by a crowd of onlookers. Weasley, who had been dumb enough to try and take on Crabbe and Goyle at the same time landed himself in the hospital wing, but Harry could not force himself to care. 

‘Not what I had in mind, Longbottom, but a step in the right direction nonetheless.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **To my readers on AO3, thank you guys for 300 kudos and 100 bookmarks! Frankly, I have no idea what constitutes a “popular story” on AO3, but I am appreciative nonetheless.**
> 
> **Two brief notes to clear some things up.**
> 
> **Firstly, Neville is not going to become super close with Harry anytime soon if at all. I have seen them be the best of friends in so many Slytherin Harry stories and I have no desire of blindly following that cliche. I am establishing the beginnings of that trope, but I intend to subvert it in time and it is not going the way you think it will.**
> 
> **Secondly, before anybody tries to correct me in the reviews, I am aware that it is said in HBP that Blaise’s mother has been widowed seven times, not six. This is deliberate on my part, not an error. For now, let’s just say that the events of HBP are still four years away and leave it at that.**
> 
> **Only three more chapters left in year 1. The next one is a bit on the short side as well, but I assure you it is not short on action. As a matter of fact, I can’t wait for the tidal wave of reviews that will inevitably follow it.**
> 
> **I keep saying it but it is just true! Thank you guys so much for the amazing support on this story! This story has gained about a hundred followers per week without fail for the last five or so weeks, and I am absolutely blown away by that fact. I’m not sure if 2k followers by the end of year 1 is doable, but here’s hoping!**
> 
> **Special shoutout to StarWalker from my Discord for his additional edits on this chapter.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The next chapter will be posted next Saturday, May 23rd 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	16. The Dragon’s Wrath Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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**March 21st 1992.  
The Quidditch Stands.  
10:57 AM.**

“Look at the stupid blood traitor go for the snitch.” Malfoy jeered when it became evident that Diggory was about to make the catch. “What an idiot! They’re behind by 160.” Crabbe and Goyle smirked stupidly.

“I’m surprised you can count that high, Malfoy.” snarked Charlus, who had endured about as many of the blonde’s comments as he could handle over the near two hour duration of the Quidditch match.

“Really, Potter? I would suspect you of doubting Weasley’s ability to count, but not mine.” Malfoy smirked. “But then again, I suppose he could practice on all of his brothers while I practiced on more important things.”

“Money isn’t everything, Malfoy.” said a quiet, slightly shaky yet defiant voice from nearby. When they all turned, many of them had to do double takes to make sure they were seeing the speaker for who he truly was.

Malfoy didn’t even seem to know how to respond at first but then, his face split into a wide grin and he started to laugh. “Apologies, Longbottom, if I don’t take a squib’s view on the world seriously.”

Neville flushed but did not back down. “It’s not my view, Malfoy, it’s the truth. If money was everything, you’d have friends, not followers. If money was everything, you’d have all of Slytherin eating out of your hands, but you’re not even the top player in your year!”

Malfoy’s face flushed as Charlus and Ron howled with laughter in support of Neville. “Not the top player? Shut your mouth, you filthy little blood traitor! Who is then? Who’s the top player?”

“Harry.”

Malfoy froze and for a second, an emotion that Neville couldn’t place flashed across his face before Malfoy sneered. “Competent Potter will get his soon enough.” Malfoy promised. “I thought there was hope for him but he’ll go the same as you,” he sneered at Charlus, “the same as your parents, or maybe even yours!” This last bit was directed towards Neville and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Before Malfoy could do so much as move, Neville had hurled himself at the blonde and knocked him forcefully onto his back. Neville hardly even registered the fact that he was sitting atop the blonde’s chest, raining down blows, or that Nott had tried to curse him and Charlus had leapt between them. Or, even, that Ron had tried to take on the two largest kids in the year on his own. Neville only saw red as his anger exploded out of him in waves.

**March 23rd 1992.  
The Potions Classroom.  
9:41 AM.**

After partnering with Daphne the previous Friday, Harry had chosen to partner with Neville once more and had once again managed to guide him through what he thought would be a low O level potion. As the class made to depart, however, Harry stopped Neville with a hand on his shoulder.

“I heard about what happened at the match.” he said seriously. It was true. Parkinson had loudly told the story in the common room, something that had annoyed Malfoy to no end. 

Neville smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I’ve got detention with McGonagall for the next two Saturdays, but it was worth it.”

Harry grinned genuinely back at him. “Yeah, that was good work, Neville. In future though, don’t land yourself in too much trouble on my behalf. I didn’t do anything to earn that kind of loyalty from you and you shouldn’t rise to his taunts about your parents. They died as heroes.”

Neville shook his head. “You’ve helped me a lot, Harry. I would do a lot more than punch Malfoy for you. Plus,” Neville added with an uncharacteristic smirk, “he’s a bit of a git.”

Harry couldn’t help it. He broke his no laughing in public rule on the spot, which drew the attention of much of Slytherin’s first year, but he didn’t care. “Too true, Neville.” he said once he had recovered enough to speak. “Too true.”

**March 28th 1992.  
An Abandoned Classroom.  
8:46 PM.**

“Is this the room you always use?” Harry asked his older group of friends as they led him into an abandoned classroom that he could feel was warded in some way or another.

“Yes,” Calypso told him with a rather proud smile, “me and Hestia have spent almost two years warding the place.” 

“A teacher could walk right by and they’d never notice a thing.” Hestia Carrow added with a rather proud smile, something that was a rarity on her visage.

“Duelling then?” Flora asked, twirling her wand suggestively. 

“Sure,” Calypso told her, removing her own wand from a holster with a lazy flick of her wrist. “I’ll take you on, if you’d like. Cassius, Hestia, would you like a round?” She turned to Harry. “You don’t mind observing a round or two, do you?”

Harry shook his head. “Not at all.” he answered honestly. He thought he could learn a great deal from watching the older students duel. 

Calypso smiled. “Cassius, Hestia, would you like to go first?” Hestia simply stepped forward with a flourish. Cassius nodded stiffly and stepped into the circle of Runes drawn upon the floor, standing across from his foe. “What do you say Harry takes on the loser of this duel?” Neither older student objected and Harry’s focus on the duel quickly sharpened. 

Within the first thirty seconds, he realized he likely wouldn’t win either way, though privately, he thought he’d have a much better shot against Cassius. It wasn’t a mismatch, per se. Cassius seemed good, but it was clear that Hestia was on another level. Within two minutes, the duel had ended with Cassius casting a spell apparently called “dueller’s defeat” when a rather nasty looking spell from Hestia had caused him to cry out in pain.

“You see the Runes on the floor?” Calypso asked, indicating the circle in which Hestia and Cassius had duelled, he nodded. “Those will keep any magic within them, as long as you’re not going too overboard. Anyway, it will keep the duellists confined and if one of them gets hit with something like Cassius did, they can just cast duellers defeat and the wards will push them out and counter the spell. Again, within reason.”

Harry nodded as Calypso and Flora stepped forward. 

This duel was faster and far more intense. Flora seemed on a level similar to her sister in terms of ability, but it was clear almost immediately she would lose. Calypso seemed to be in a completely different league altogether and though Flora managed to hold her off for a time, she didn’t really manage anything offensive and was beaten quite soundly.

‘Damn, she’s good; really good.’

“You’re up, Harry.” said Calypso after a few minutes of discussion. He nodded mutely and stepped into the circle across from Cassius before bowing. Cassius reciprocated and they both raised their wands.

Calypso counted them down. “Three, two, one — commence!”

“Stupefy!”

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Cassius’s stunner and Harry’s full-body-bind met in mid air, causing a flash of bright red light and a sound like a firecracker as they were both sent off course. Harry reacted to the break faster than Cassius and sent a quick disarming spell at him chained with a full body bind. Cassius’s eyes widened at the chaining, but his shield managed to hold against both spells, if just barely. 

“Lacero!” he returned, and having no idea what that spell would do, Harry dodged left. Unfortunately, Cassius had anticipated that and intercepted Harry with a less dangerous but rather painful cutting curse that opened up a gash on his arm. Snarling, Harry dodged Cassius’s next two spells and fired a bolt of fire at Cassius with the Incendio charm that forced the older boy to dive to the side. 

“Aguamenti, Glacius!” Quickly, Harry sprayed and froze the ground underneath Cassius as he dove to the side, causing him to skid out of control. Harry took aim with the disarming charm, but before he could get it off, Cassius had fired a spell Harry did not recognise towards his legs and he had to leap to the side. That gave Cassius enough time to stand to his feet and the boy’s visage was hard and cold now. 

“Everte Statum!”

“Protego!”

Cassius’s eyes widened again as Harry’s hastily conjured shield absorbed the spell and allowed Harry to go on the offensive. He managed to land a cutting curse on Cassius’s arm but that was the extent of his success in the duel. He did well, extremely well for somebody his age, but he had inevitably been overwhelmed. By the time the duel had concluded, he had taken a nasty bludgeoner, another cutter and a spell that Harry did not recognize that caused a rather vicious burn on his arm. Eventually, Cassius caught him with a well placed tripping jinx before Everte Statum sent him to his knees as a shockwave of pain ran up his body. In that time, Cassius had snuck in an Expelliarmus to end the duel. 

As soon as Harry’s wand had been rested away from him, Cassius strode towards him and offered him a hand up. “That was brilliant!” Cassius congratulated him. “You surprised the hell out of me!”

“Amen!” said Calypso, stepping forward and healing the cut on Harry’s shoulder with her wand. “Harry, that was incredible! You just kept up with a fourth year for several minutes on end!”

He shrugged. “I played my cards too early.”

“Yes, you did,” admitted Hestia with what sounded like genuine respect, “but they kept you in the duel long enough for it to become interesting, which was a lot more than any of us expected.”

Harry smirked. “That may be the first compliment you’ve ever paid me, Carrow. Backhanded as it is, I’ll take it.”

“Hestia.” she told him sharply. She did not smile, but there was no sign of the usual coldness in her eyes. Harry had earned her respect, it seemed.

“Flora.” echoed her twin.

Harry genuinely beamed at the two of them. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Harry for me, please.”

**April 5th 1992.  
The Gryffindor Common Room.  
8:31 PM.**

“I’ve got it!” Hermione exclaimed victoriously, snapping Ron and Charlus out of their rather one sided chess game to blink at their bushy haired friend. Hermione’s smile was wide and beaming and she held up a rather hulking tome that neither boy had ever seen before.

“Got what?” Ron asked, bemused.

“Nicholas Flamel!” she said again, not daring to mention the Philosopher’s Stone in the crowded confines of the Gryffindor common room. All at once, the drowsiness left Charlus’s visage as he quickly summoned his wand to his hand and gave it a twitch. 

“Muffliato.”

Immediately, the magic flowed from his Holly wand. “We won’t be overheard.” he told the two of them. Both were familiar with the charm, as he had used it several times during similar discussions about the mystery of Flamel and the stone. “You think you’ve figured it out, Hermione?”

“I’m sure of it!” she said proudly, turning the page to face them. “Read this!” Shooting each other wary glances, Charlus and Ron leant forward.

_The intricacies of Alchemy are complex and multi layered and on the path to alchemical mastery are many hurdles, both physical and intellectual in nature. In saying so, the applications of Alchemy are primarily limited by creativity alone. By example, the common consensus is that the greatest alchemical discovery/innovation of all time was created by Nicholas Flamel in the early 15th century. The Philosopher’s Stone, or to give it it’s original name in Flamel’s native tongue, La Pierre Philosophale is an object that can create two separate elixirs. The first is capable of transforming any metal into gold upon making contact and the second is commonly referred to as “the elixir of life.” The latter elixir does not grant unconditional immortality, but it will permanently protect the drinker from death via natural causes if it is consistently consumed. By example, Nicholas Flamel has lived a long, happy life spanning over six centuries. He now nears his 665th birthday, where as his wife, Paranel, recently celebrated her 658th._

Heavy silence followed Ron’s and Charlus’s completion of that excerpt. “Blimey.” Ron muttered. “Endless money and immortality.”

“I can see why somebody wants to steal it.” Charlus admitted, his visage resolute. He turned towards Hermione. “Hermione, you’re brilliant and all, but how the hell did you find this?”

“When you mentioned The Philosopher’s Stone after that Quidditch match, I remembered a muggle myth about it. They have the alchemy bit right, so I just ordered a book on alchemy from Flourish and Blotts.” 

Ron and Charlus exchanged looks. “This is not good.” Charlus decided. “Not good at all.”

**April 15th 1992.  
The Library.  
11:46 AM.**

The first three days of the Easter holidays had passed thus far in peace for Charlus, Ron and Hermione. Now, the three of them sat in the library. Hermione had taken the liberty of drawing them up exam study guides and they were, thanks to her intense persistence, finally putting them to use. That was until a hulking, familiar, impossible to miss figure sidled his way out of a row of shelves.

“Hey, Hagrid!” Ron greeted cheerfully, seeming to exalt at the break in work. Rather uncharacteristically, Hagrid flinched upon hearing his name and made a rather obvious show of shoving something behind his back. 

“Oh, mornin’ Ron, Charlus, Hermione.”

“What are you doing in here, Hagrid?” Charlus asked. He was pretty sure that he had never spotted Hagrid in the library before today.

“Jus’ lookin’.” Hagrid said innocently. “How are yeh’re classes goin’?”

“We’re on break now,” Ron pointed out, “but they were going alright, I guess.”

“Good, good,” Hagrid said distractedly, “well it was nice talkin’ to the three o’ ya’s. I’ve gotta go down to me hut n’ check on me dinner.”

As soon as he had left the library, Hermione was on her feet, clearly intent on investigating whatever Isle Hagrid had emerged from. When she came out she wore a rather worried, rather thoughtful look on her face.

“Well?” Charlus asked, having picked up on her intentions several minutes earlier.

“Dragons,” she told them darkly, causing Ron to look up sharply from his Charms textbook, “more specifically, dragon breeding.”

**April 16th 1992.  
The Library.  
7:33 PM.**

“So, you mean to tell me,” Harry asked his brother during their weekly Thursday get together in the library under the protection of the Muffliato spell, “that you, Weasley and Granger think that Hagrid is hatching a baby dragon in his wooden hut?” Harry knew Hagrid wasn’t the brightest soul around, but he could not fathom the sheer stupidity one would have to possess to think it a good idea to raise a dragon in a hut built from wood.

Charlus nodded solemnly. “We’re almost positive.” he told his twin. “Last night, me, Ron and Hermione went down there. There was something in the fire but he wouldn’t let us get a look at it. All the windows are covered by curtains and it’s hot as hell in there. Hermione’s been doing research and said that dragons are best hatched in hot, humid environments.” he let that statement hang in the air.

“Please, please don’t tell me you’re planning to get involved or go anywhere near that dragon?”

“We can’t just let Hagrid get thrown out for raising the thing!”

“Charlus, I don’t know how to break this to you, but the law is there for a reason. If somebody chooses to break the law, they have also chosen to face the consequences. If you go near that hut, and let’s just ignore the possibility of you getting burned to a crisp and focus on all of the other very real things that could go wrong. You could be expelled for conspiring with Hagrid. If you try to get rid of the dragon, you could be expelled for smuggling a dragon; which is also a five year sentence in Azkaban if I’m not mistaken.” Tracey was rather fond of magical creatures and had once said how brilliant it would be to raise a dragon if the ministry allowed her, but she had mentioned the Azkaban sentence. 

“But we can’t let Hagrid-“

“Listen to me, Charlus! If you’re expelled from Hogwarts over something as stupid as a dragon, your reputation as The-Boy-Who-Lived isn’t going to be able to save you. At best, you’ll be given a chance to flee the country if father pulls some hefty strings. At worst, you’ll be thrown in Azkaban right alongside Voldemort’s old lot. Suit yourself, brother dear, but you could not pay me to get involved in that disaster waiting to happen.”

That shut Charlus up in a hurry.

**April 16th 1992.  
The Speaker’s Den.  
10:38 PM.**

Silence followed Harry’s retelling of his meeting with Charlus earlier that day. He had not bothered imposing Salazar’s Sanction for such a meeting, but he had wanted to do it well out of prying eyes and ears.

“So you mean to tell me that our esteemed gamekeeper is raising a dragon?” Blaise asked, sounding almost amused by the thought. “That is delightfully foolish.”

“And let’s not skip over the fact that your brother wants to help him.” muttered Daphne. “How are you two related?”

“Because we grew up in two opposite environments.” Harry proposed darkly. “I always thought I got the short end of the stick, but things like this make me wonder.” The look Daphne shot him made it clear that such jokes were not funny when one had more context, but Blaise allowed a bell like laugh and Tracey grinned. 

“You have a very morbid sense of humour.” Blaise told him approvingly.

‘Oh, Zabini, you have no idea.’

“So, the Philosopher’s Stone is at Hogwarts, somebody is probably trying to steal it, AND there’s a dragon?” Tracey asked for clarification.

“And,” Harry added exasperatedly, “my brother has taken an interest in both.”

Blaise snorted. “See, Harry? Even before we were friends I didn’t lie to you. Dumbledore is off his rocker!”

“Or completely incompetent.” proposed Tracey.

“Definitely not,” Daphne said darkly, “nobody has more secrets than Albus Dumbledore, and he is almost always in control.”

That sounded awfully familiar and then, Harry realized why. 

_“Nobody has more secrets than Albus Dumbledore.” Lady Weitts said darkly._ That was rather interesting. Those two statements seemed way too similar to one another.

“This is all great to know about,” Blaise said carefully, eying Harry with a certain degree of caution, “but please tell me you’re only telling us this to be safe? You don’t have any plans of joining in on this, do you?”

“Not unless I really have to.” he answered. “But something tells me this whole thing is going to go terribly wrong.” ‘And I’m going to get dragged into it.’ he added internally.

**April 24th 1992.  
The Slytherin Common Room.  
7:49 PM.**

For the first time since receiving the gift from Dumbledore at Christmas, the piece of parchment Harry had that was linked to the one in his brother’s possession emitted a soft, blue light. Harry’s eyes narrowed. The two twins had made a pact only to use these pieces of parchment in emergencies in an effort to keep them secret. As discreetly as he could manage, Harry pulled out the parchment and eyed it carefully.

_The dragon hatched today. It’s apparently a Norwegian Ridgeback if that means anything to you. The more important thing is that Malfoy almost definitely knows. We caught him spying through a gap in the curtains and he ran from the hut at full speed._

Harry actually cursed aloud. Well, whispered, but it still drew startled expressions from Tracey, Daphne and Blaise. He shook his head, indicating for them to go back to their homework as he wrote his response.

 _Hagrid better get rid of it quickly then. Whatever you want to say about Malfoy, he’s not going to pass up an opportunity like this._

It took only a moment for the response to come.

_Wow, what a display of Slytherin cunning. I’d have never thought of that._

Harry actually smirked at the reply. He hadn’t been quite certain his brother was capable of sarcasm.

**April 27th 1992.  
The Potions Classroom.  
10:29 AM.**

Harry and Neville had brewed what the former considered to be quite the impressive potion that Monday morning. It was, without a doubt, the best the pair of them had managed up to that point and for the first time working together, they managed to finish only behind Daphne and Tracey.

“Brilliant work, Neville.” Harry said with a smile. It was half true. Harry had carried him through the brewing process for certain but now, unlike when the pair had first partnered together over a month ago, Neville didn’t panic and try to add ingredients at random every time Snape came within twenty feet of the pair. He was still incompetent in the subject even if he was nearing closer to competency every time Harry worked with him but by this point, he was no longer a danger to his partner and those in his general vacinity.

Neville beamed at him. “Thanks a ton, Harry. This has been… uh, really helpful.”

Harry smiled. “I’m only doing what I can, Neville. That’s what friends are for.” 

The bell chose that moment to ring, signifying the end of class and with a pleasant goodbye to Neville, Harry made his way out of the classroom. When he did so, Goyle chose that same moment to try and rush out of the door. The hulking boy slammed into Harry and both of them stumbled. Goyle reached out, whether to catch Harry or steady himself Harry wasn’t sure but in the process, he managed to pull a few hairs clean out of Harry’s head. Within a second, Harry had extricated himself from the boy and was glaring at him openly, allowing the damper he usually put on his eyes to slip. “What the hell are you doing, Goyle?”

The boy gulped nervously. “Uh… nothing, s-sorry, Potter. I was j-just in a hurry.” 

“Hurry up then.” Harry snarled, waving a hand for the idiot to go ahead of him.

“That was odd.” commented Blaise a minute later after Harry had caught up with him, Daphne and Tracey. 

“He’s an idiot.” Harry bit back with a roll of his eyes. “He doesn’t know his lefts from his rights. Probably thought grabbing me would keep him upright, and let’s just ignore the fact he’s twice my size and would have just pulled both of us down.”

“That would have been unfortunate.” Blaise said dryly. “I dare say you’d be a bit embarrassed and I have a feeling poor Goyle would be spending a night in the infirmary.”

Harry crooked an eyebrow. “What makes you think I could put him in the infirmary?”

Blaise’s smirk was all too knowing. “Oh, just a suspicion, Harry. You can call it a gut feeling, if you’d like.”

**May 1st 1991.  
A Room In The Dungeons.  
7:02 PM.**

“Before we begin tonight’s session,” Hurst began, “I would like to inquire as to how you are holding up in light of the oncoming examinations? I have no doubt that you will perform more than admirably on said examinations, but I do not wish to monopolize your time if you believe it could be spent better studying.”

“I’m doing ok, professor.” Harry answered honestly. “I’m quite far ahead of the curriculum, to be honest.”

Hurst’s eyebrow quirked. “I will not inquire as to Defense, because I have a fairly accurate idea, I would presume. How far ahead are you in your other subjects? If, of course, you do not view my inquisition as invasive.”

Harry shrugged. “Near the end of second year in Transfiguration and Charms. I hope to finish the second year curriculum in the former before the end of the school year, but I don’t know whether or not that will actually happen.”

“And the other subjects?” It was a mark of either Hurst’s perceptiveness or self control that she did not even react to that information. Either she had pieced as much together herself, or she was remarkably adept at hiding her emotions. Harry thought both were likely true.

“That depends on the subject.” he said honestly. “I’m probably mid second year in Potions and a bit into the year in Herbology.” he shrugged. “I’m really not that far ahead in Astronomy and History, but I think I’ll be able to manage O’s without too much issue.” That response was far more open than the variants he would typically give out, but if any adult had earned Harry’s trust this year, it was Professor Hurst.

She nodded curtly. “In that case, I think these lessons can continue until the beginning of exams themselves unless you have any objections?”

“No ma’am, I would actually prefer that.”

Hurst’s lips twitched. “I had suspected as much, but I do not wish to sacrifice your grades so I had to be sure.” 

Harry nodded; he understood. “What will we be covering tonight, professor?”

“Tonight, we will be covering an offensive spell that is a staple in the arsenals of most any duelist from the level of amateur to former and future World Champions.” She took aim at the dummies on the far wall, the ones that were charmed to react to magic as a person would.

“Stupefy.” 

A bolt of red light streaked out from the end of Hurst’s wand and slammed into the dummy’s chest, dead center. In response, it immediately crumpled to the floor, where it lay, unmoving, until Hurst flicked her wand and caused a flash of silver. Harry presumed she had ended the spell, though its counter was very obviously not the typical Finite Incantatem.

“I think I may have seen that spell before.” Harry mused quietly, more to himself than to Hurst. It had looked awfully reminiscent of one that Cassius had sent his way during their brief duel, and he thought that Stupefy had been the incantation.

Hurst’s eyebrows rose, if marginally. “Oh? It is not an overly complex spell, though it is not taught until fourth year. I must confess to being curious as to where you have seen the spell before?”

Harry hesitated. He trusted Hurst, but was this something to reveal? Again, he just felt like he could trust her, so hesitantly, he answered. “I… took part in a bit of practice with some of my friends in upper years.”

Hurst showed no visible reaction. “Would the question of who these friends of yours be too personal?”

Harry debated for a second before answering. “Cassius Warrington, the Carrow twins and Calypso Rosier.”

Hurst’s eyebrows rose further. “An impressive lineup.” she complimented. “Cassius Warrington is above average in my subject, both Hestia and Flora are among my top students and I would say that Calypso Rosier is bordering on the title of prodigy.”

Harry blinked; he had known Calypso was good, very good even, but to be considered even close to a prodigy by Hurst, who was fair but extremely harsh and critical was a feat in and of itself. 

“See that you maintain those alliances if possible.” Hurst told him. “They will be very beneficial to you in the future.”

And that was all she said on the matter as she quickly transitioned into helping Harry through the process of learning the stunning spell and its counter.

**May 7th 1992.**  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
8:32 PM. 

After spending several hours in the library, Harry paused while making his way back down to the dungeons when his ring began to press its magic against his consciousness. There were three people nearby, up ahead and around the corner. Slowly, Harry took a breath and vanished before peeking around the corner. There was nobody there, but he could feel the magic emanating from the nearest classroom door, which stood ajar. With a mental roll of his eyes, Harry wondered when people would learn to close doors around here.

Focusing on the room, Harry turned his ring three times to the right and the conversation suddenly came into clear focus.

“We’ll get him.” It was Malfoy speaking, and he spoke with as much confidence as Harry could imagine. “When Potter tries to smuggle the dragon out tomorrow night, we’ll get him.” Harry’s heart froze. He had told Charlus that he wanted nothing to do with the plan, but hearing the fact that his brother was going to smuggle the dragon out in twenty four hours was rather jarring. That was, of course, assuming that Malfoy was not simply bluffing. The confidence in his voice was evident though, and privately, Harry didn’t think Malfoy was that good of an actor. “We’ll intercept it without any problems.” Malfoy continued easily. “When we do, it’s game over for Potter.” 

Harry had heard all he needed to. Disabling his disillusionment, he made to step around the corner and get away from the room, but as he did so, his entire body went rigid, even though no spell had hit him.

‘Shit.’

Within a second, the conversation inside the room had died off and Harry felt someone grabbing and dragging him into said room. Before he knew what was happening, he was propped up against the wall, still completely immobilized from what felt like a full body bind as Malfoy sneered down at him.

“Thought I left the door ajar, did you Potter?” he asked with a taunting smirk. Mentally, Harry took a note to never underestimate an opponent again.

Draco smiled down at him. “It’s nice of you to join us though. You’re just in time for us to tell you what’s going on.” Harry then spotted the other three boys in the room. One was Theodore Nott, which Harry really should have expected after the fiasco in Defense all those months ago. The other two, one, again, he should have anticipated. Andrew Macnair had made it pretty clear what he thought of Harry on the first night, but the third… Daniel Selwyn, the fifth year prefect. Harry had never said so much as a word to Selwyn. He had no idea what the boy would possibly have against him.

“Surprised, Potter?” Malfoy drawled casually, leaning up against the wall as he leered down at him. “You really shouldn’t be. You didn’t think I’d just let that frame job go, did you?” He was not smirking anymore. “I still don’t know how you did it, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?” 

“I think we should let the half blood talk, Draco.” Macnair drawled. “It would be amusing and ropes will have the same effect as the body-bind.” 

“Go on then if you want, Andrew.”

For a second, Harry felt the relief of the full-body-bind lift but before he could so much as move, ropes tied themselves so tightly around his body that they dug painfully into his skin. It took every bit of Harry’s will not to scream at Malfoy but when he spoke, his voice was calm, measured and almost bored in tone.

“A fourth and a fifth year, Malfoy? I’m disappointed. You couldn’t take down a first year without their help?”

“Couldn’t is a strong word, Potter. When you have friends, true friends, you don’t need to do all of the heavy lifting sometimes.” he smirked. “Especially when they both don’t like you.” 

Harry glared at Macnair. “I would expect this from you,” he snarled, “and you,” he added to Nott dismissively, “but what did I ever do to you, Selwyn?”

The boy sneered. “You’re not worth my time, Potter. This is bigger than you.”

“Don’t tell me he’s paying-“

“Tormensia!”

The dark purple curse that left Selwyn’s wand struck Harry and wracked his body. Every muscle felt as if it was folding in on itself. He managed not to scream, but it was a near miss and he bit right through his bottom lip in the process, causing a thin stream of blood to trickle down his chin and onto his robes. When the pain lifted about fifteen seconds later, he was breathing heavily.

Now he sneered at them with his hatred unmasked. “This is going to backfire like a bitch, Malfoy.” he hissed. If that line was out of character for an eleven year old, he didn’t care. He had heard plenty of Vernon’s more inventive curses while locked up in his cupboard and it was only inevitable that he’d pick up a few. “When I get out of here, I’m going to ruin you, and I have older friends too, friends that will ruin your lapdogs.” That comment earned him another round of the Tormensia curse from Selwyn. This time, it drew a groan from Harry, but he would not give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

“That’s the beauty, Potter.” Macnair told him. “By the time you get out, it will already be too late. You’ll be thrown out of this place and hopefully into Azkaban to boot. You won’t do shit and it’ll be too late for Weitts to save her favourite protégé.” If Harry was more calm, he may have wondered how the boy had come to the conclusion that he was Weitts’s protégé. Currently, however, he was too busy dealing with far more pressing matters like the pain of Selwyn’s spell and the internal panic that wracked his brain.

“Care to fill him in, Draco?”

“With pleasure, Andrew. This room has been warded by Daniel here,” he indicated Selwyn. “No one will find you until we come get you tomorrow night. By that time, we’ll have intercepted the dragon that your brother’s brought into the castle and bring it into Professor Snape.” Malfoy smirked. “Of course, your brother’s annoying, but he’s no more so than that. You, Potter, for all of your drawbacks have actually been too much of a problem. Sure, I could sell out your brother, but this whole thing started with frame jobs, so it may as well end that way.”

Harry actually laughed loudly, if a bit maniacally. “How the hell do you think you’re going to frame me while I’m locked up in here? My brother’s a lot of things but he’s too stupid and too noble to let me take the fall, even if you somehow manage it.”

“That’s the thing, Potter. For all Professor Snape will know, you’ll be in this room because you put up too much of a fight to bring quietly. Your dear old brother, for all of his talents, isn’t immune to a memory charm.” 

Harry’s eyes widened in horror. “You can’t-“

“No, but I can.” drawled Selwyn with a smirk.

“And for you, competent Potter,” Malfoy drawled, reaching into his pocket and removing a glass vial with a single hair, “we’re going to make sure this ends up on whatever container the idiots try and bring the dragon in with.” Silently, Harry realized that was now twice he had underestimated somebody and twice that it had backfired. He had merely thought Goyle was an idiot, but there had been a greater purpose after all. Malfoy smirked at him as he came to these revelations. “With that plus the word of three heirs to Ancient and Most Noble Houses, you’ll not only be expelled, but you’ll be convicted of dragon smuggling.” Malfoy’s grin widened. “Do you know what the sentence is for dragon smuggling?”

“Five years.” Harry bit out, refusing to let Malfoy realize how utterly terrified he was as realization began to set in. 

Malfoy’s smile was wide and predatory. “Got it in one! Do you know, Potter, what that means for the heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House?” When it became clear he didn’t, Malfoy decided to enlighten him. “It means, Potter, that you’re eligible to be disinherited.” Harry’s eyes practically bulged out of his head. Malfoy smirked. “Now, I don’t think your father’s cruel enough to just do it for no reason, but if his forgotten son disgraced the family by committing such a heinous crime…”

“And it opened the door for the famous Boy-Who-Lived to take his rightful spot as heir.” added Macnair. 

“And if he needed some help with the affairs in the next five years.” Nott spoke up for the first time.

“He wouldn’t want his heir to be such a public disgrace.” Selwyn chimed in. “Not after the Potters have done everything since the Dark Lady’s downfall to stay the darlings of the wizarding world.”

“I think our odds are pretty good.” Macnair sneered at Harry. “You’ll be thrown out of the family, Potter. By the time your ass gets the fuck out of Azkaban, you’ll have nothing. No wand, no money, no-name. At best, you’ll have to leave England.” he smirked cruelly. “At worst, well, it would be such a shame if someone or something took advantage of just how helpless you were.”

Harry couldn’t even speak, he was just too shocked, too afraid. This couldn’t be happening!

“Well,” Malfoy said, sounding all business, “it was a pleasure dancing with you, Potter, but you should have stuck to your station and realized who your betters were.”

The four boys' laughter could be heard ringing throughout the corridor as they left Harry, helpless, bound, and terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Quick note here since it’s come up a few times in the reviews on fanfiction.net and this is the absolute last time I will speak on this, since I have already done so before. I cannot write an eleven year old to save my life. I have made this blatantly obvious in at least one AN already, but I will reiterate the point. This is not me trying to write realistic dialogue and thought processes for an eleven year old, though I will show mental progression as they grow older. I do not spend enough time around eleven year olds to write one accurately, and I haven’t since I was eight or nine, seeing as I always hung around with older kids. Also, if I were to write them accurately in regards to their age, I would greatly limit what I could do in terms of events, and that would be no fun.**
> 
> **On a brighter note, I can confirm that there will be NO delay between years 1 and 2! The final chapter of year 1 will go up on Saturday June 6th, and the first chapter of year 2 will be posted under this same story the very next Saturday, June 13th.**
> 
> **I know that this was a rather cruel cliffhanger on my part, but I must confess, they are quite fun. Things may not play out the way you anticipate but trust me, they will only get worse before they get better…**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: Year 1’s Penultimate chapter will be posted next Saturday, May 31st 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	17. The Dragon’s Wrath Part II (It Gets Worse)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction based on the Harry Potter universe. All recognizable characters, plots and settings are the exclusive property of J.K Rowling. I make no claim to ownership nor do I make any profit.**
> 
> **Acknowledgements: Thank you to my betas Umar, Luq707, Yoshi89 and Fezzik for their incredible work on this story.**
> 
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**May 8th 1992.  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
11:47 PM.**

Draco waited and waited alongside Daniel, Andrew and Theodore for Charlus Potter and his group of morons to hand deliver them the dragon. As midnight approached, Draco started to get twitchy. According to the letter he had nicked from Weasley’s hospital bed after he must have been bit by the bloody creature, the dragon was supposed to be moved now. Part of him, the Slytherin part, he suspected, thought that this would be the most elaborate, but most perfect setup ever if the lions had staged Weasley ending up in the hospital wing just to assure that their true plan went undiscovered. The less paranoid, more rational side of Draco knew, however, that none of that lot was that clever. Granger was an academic brainiac for certain, but Draco wouldn’t classify her as clever or cunning, per se.

Then he saw it, a single figure, wrapped in a black cloak, making his way carefully around the corner while holding a large, blank crate. 

Before Draco could muse on the fact that there was only one figure, there was movement from beside him. The figure never even saw Daniel’s bludgeoning hex coming, and before the crate could hit the ground and infuriate the creature within, Macnair caught it with a levitation charm. Quickly and quietly, all four Slytherins converged on the fallen figure.

“Bet you didn’t expect us, did you Po-“ Draco’s sentence caught in his throat. It was not a pair of deep, warm, hazel eyes staring up at him. Instead, it was a set of intense, emerald green ones that were filled entirely with pure, unadulterated hatred. 

**The Previous Night.  
An Abandoned Classroom.  
8:13 PM.**

In the minutes that passed following Malfoy and his goons’ exit from the classroom, Harry’s mental state was in a constant flux between terrified and homicidal. If he could just break out of these stupid bindings — oh, what he would do to Malfoy! But if he didn’t… would he really go to Azkaban? Would his Father really disinherit him? 

‘Think, Potter, think!’

But he couldn’t. There was too much emotion clouding his logical thought process, and even his memory could not break through the haze of fury and panic. Unbidden, so many long passed memories fluttered to the surface of his mind’s eye like a flock of persistent birds, their wings beating ruthlessly against the edges of Harry’s mind’s eye. Too many memories of being helpless, trapped and afraid.

Unless…

‘Emotion… suppress… clear… clearing of the mind!’

Harry had never tried to actually clear his mind as thus far, he had only performed the preparatory meditation exercises. That was not even accounting for the fact that if he tried it, he would have to do so while trying to think cognitively at the same time as being in a high pressure situation. But then again, he had never successfully cast the Protego shield before the troll had bore down on him all those months ago. Remembering the instructions in his guide to the mind arts he had received from Charlotte, Harry did his best to follow them.

The phrase “clearing the mind” was, according to the book, misleading. It was impossible to just “clear your mind.” Instead, what the book suggested was to think up an image, preferably one with little to no detail but one that could be recalled at a split second’s notice. Harry’s memory made this process rather trivial, but he had his image nonetheless. From there, one had to allow that image to consume not just their mind’s eye but their entire mind as well. If one could manage it, wrap their magic around the image. If not, they would simply have to allow the thoughts crashing through their minds to pass, which would be far easier in this state of mind. If they had exceptional control over their magic, however, one could use that to reinforce the image and by extension, their mind.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep, centering breath as he called up the image of the underside of a very familiar set of stairs in Surrey. He managed to hold the state for about thirty seconds. He tried again — a minute. Again — a minute and a half. Several tries later, Harry had managed to hold the state for what felt like five minutes and by now, he was ready to try and think controlled, measured thoughts at the same time. Usually, the clearing of one’s mind was practiced as a singular skill for some time before controlling and moderating one’s thoughts were brought into the equation, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

If the first step had taken him an agonizingly long time, this took ages. The light was no longer filtering in the window by the time Harry had managed any degree of success but slowly, ever so slowly, he was doing it. 

Eventually, he managed to think with no emotions in the way and he could dedicate the entirety of his mind to this one problem.

Once he managed that, it took a surprisingly short amount of time for him to come to a solution.

Frankly, Harry had managed feats of magic without a wand before, but he was not even remotely delusional enough to think he could break the ropes with wandless magic. That form of magic was something he had very briefly read on in a more advanced version of Magical Theory. It turned out the skill was extremely rare, but Harry had always been quite adept at it. 

His wrists were bound too tightly to activate his holster, but he didn’t need it. With a thought, his wand snapped into his palm. His wandless arsenal was extremely limited, hence why breaking the ropes had not been an option. Summoning, locking, unlocking, warming himself, lighting a light bulb and maybe repairing things, but fortunately, he only needed to summon his wand, once he did, it was all academic.

“FINITE INCANTATEM!”

The ropes fell away and Harry let out a gasp of relief. Beyond the panic that accompanied the threat of Azkaban and the possibility of being disinherited, there was nothing in the world that Harry hated more than being confined, vulnerable and helpless. His body shook with relief for several minutes, and Harry had to actively clear his mind once more to prevent tears of relief from streaming down his face. 

When he finally had a handle on himself, Harry reached into his bag and pulled out the piece of parchment linked to his brother’s. 

_I know it’s late, but we need to talk now!  
Take the cloak and meet me by the tree line of the forbidden forest as soon as possible._

**The Present.  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
11:50 PM.**

“Potter?” Draco heard himself ask in absolute awe. “How the hell did you get out?”

Andrew and Theodore looked equally shocked but luckily for the four of them, Daniel maintained his composure. 

“It doesn’t matter; this only makes it easier for us. We don’t have to get him and we’ve got him at the scene of the crime. Let’s take him to Snape.” he turned to Harry, quickly resting his wand away from him and binding his hands behind his back with conjured ropes. “So, how’d you get out, Potter? And what are you doing here?”

“How I got out is none of your concern, Selwyn!” Harry bit back harshly. “I’m here because I convinced my brother to let me take the dragon. I didn’t trust my fate in the hands of Gryffindors, thank you very much!”

It was almost true.

**The Previous Night.  
The Grounds of Hogwarts.  
11:44 PM.**

Harry could have sighed aloud in relief as Charlus threw the cloak off of himself and looked at his brother. “What the hell did you-“ but he paused. Harry had healed the cut he had made on his own lip using the Episkey charm that Calypso had taught him, but quite a bit of blood had spilled onto his robes and he was a bit pale. On top of that, his eyes, which were normally restrained, were glowing like the flaming pits of hell in the vivid darkness. 

“Shut up and listen!” Harry hissed to Charlus and for once, his twin listened without a second thought. “Malfoy knows exactly what you’re doing tomorrow and he’s planning to intercept the dragon, have an older friend of his put memory charms on you lot, and frame me for dragon smuggling; which would not only land me in Azkaban for five years, but would get me disinherited from the Potter family.”

Charlus’s face was slack with shock. “How do you know all this?” he asked, clearly dumbstruck.

“Because him, Nott and a couple older Slytherins just tied me up in a room, hit me with a few curses and Malfoy ran his mouth about his entire plan.” Harry scowled, taking on the distinct look of somebody who was about to say something that physically pained them. “It’s not a bad plan.”

“We’re done for.” Charlus whispered. “It’s too late to get Charlie to back out now. The plan was to sneak the dragon up to the top of the Astronomy Tower under the cloak so Ron’s older brother who works with dragons could send a few of his mates to pick it up.” Charlus shook his head, clearly distraught. “He’s in Romania! He’ll never get the letter in time; we’re finished!”

“No,” said Harry with fiery determination that Charlus had never seen in his brother, “you’re not.”

“How?”

“Because you’re going to let me come tomorrow night, and you’re going to do this my way!”

**The Present.  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
11:52 PM.**

Macnair snorted. “And how did that work out for you, Potter?” 

“Not quite as well as I’d hoped.” Harry answered dryly as he was hauled to his feet and led back the way he had come. Malfoy’s constant string of taunts did not waver as they neared the dungeons and Snape’s office. Harry’s heart quickened by the moment. The fear of Azkaban and of being disinherited had returned now. What if he had bit off more than he could chew? What if this plan really did backfire? He clamped down on that thought hard. He couldn’t doubt himself; he had to believe in his plan.

The dragon crate was being levitated by Macnair and there was no sound from within the crate itself. 

By the time Malfoy knocked pompously on Snape’s door, it was past midnight, and Harry’s heart was about ready to leap into his throat. 

It took a few rounds of knocks but eventually, Snape threw the door open, a look of contorted fury twisting his features as he glared out at them. “What is the-“ but then his eyes took in the scene. Malfoy, Nott, Macnair and Selwyn floating a mysterious crate and clearly marshalling a terrified looking Harry Potter. “Selwyn!” Snape snapped at the prefect. “What is the meaning of all of this?”

“It’s Potter, sir.” Selwyn said smoothly. “Draco here got wind of Potter’s plan to help the oaf, Hagrid, sneak a dragon off the grounds. Apparently, Hagrid has been raising the thing and needed to get rid of it.” 

For a second, Harry thought he saw something flash in Snape’s eyes that made him even more wary… disbelief.

“Is this true, Potter?”

“Y-y-yes sir.” Harry lied, praying to any deity that may or may not exist that Snape took his word.

He did.

“All of you, inside.” he said, stepping to the side. “I need to call the aurors.” His lip curled. “One of whom, coincidentally, Potter, just happens to be your father.” 

“Professor,” Malfoy simpered, “could you call my father in as well? He’s on the board of governors, you see? I’m sure he would love to see this first hand, and I’m sure he would be very appreciative for your help.”

“Very well.” Snape agreed curtly, rushing into his private quarters with an unreadable expression to floo call Lord Malfoy and the aurors. 

“I don’t know how you got out, Potter,” Malfoy whispered gleefully, “but it’s over now! You’re going to Azkaban and then it’s game over!” Harry’s only thought was that he had to keep them talking. 

“My father won’t send me to Azkaban.”

“He won’t have a choice with mine here.” Draco drawled importantly. “Your father’s an idiot, Potter. Mine will have him trapped in a corner faster than you can even say Azkaban.” he smirked at the horrified expression on Harry’s face. He was clearly loving every single second of this. “I thought there was hope for you, you know?” he continued. “But now I see I was wrong. You’re as Gryffindorishly stupid as your brother. You picked the wrong enemy and even when you managed to luck your way out of the trap from earlier, you still didn’t have the brains to go to a teacher. No, big heroic Harry Potter was coming to save the day! What’s the matter, Potter? Were you sick of living in your brother’s shadow? Did you think doing something so stupidly heroic would change that?”

Suddenly, they were interrupted by the sudden whoosh of the fire and a moment later, three Aurors stepped into the room. Harry recognized one of them as his father. The other two both trained their wands on Harry at once. One was a tall, black skinned man with an impressive physique and who wore the same badge as his father that identified him as a Senior Auror. The other was a standard auror by the look of it. He had short cropped brown hair and dark brown eyes. 

“Harry,” asked James painfully, “what the hell’s going on?”

“Stand down, James.” the dark skinned man said in a deep, baritone voice. “No interrogations until the evidence has been gathered.”

The other auror scoffed. “Come off it, Kingsley. We have the word of three Heirs of Ancient and Most Noble Houses and a Hogwarts Professor. Do we even need any more evidence?”

“I don’t trust the word of children here!” James hissed, his voice quiet but deadly. “And the word of Snivellus counts for even-“

“I hope you don’t mean to imply that my son is untrustworthy, Senior Auror.” said a smooth, calm drawl from behind them. Snape had re-entered the room but he was not alone. A tall man joined him, one with the same platinum blonde hair as Draco as well as the same cold grey eyes. Harry recognized the man and his cane from the Samhain gathering at Weitts manor.

Lucius Malfoy. 

“And if I am?”

“Then I will happily sue you upon the proof of my son’s accusations.”

“Your son is a-“

“Can we get this over with?” Snape asked with obvious annoyance, levelling a borderline murderous glare on James. “I would quite like to get to bed and I dare say I will have to write up expulsion papers.”

“Do we not need the Headmaster?” the man named Kingsley asked.

“No,” Lucius said promptly, “I am present as a representative of the board of governors and Severus is the boy’s head of house. We will proceed now.” There was an evil glint in Lucius’s eyes and as much as Harry hated Draco in this moment, he feared Lucius far more. There was so much cunning, so much danger in those pale grey eyes. 

“Very well,” Kingsley said, “John, James, cover the crate while I open it, will you? I’m not sure what breed we’re dealing with here, so the thing might be quick. It’s young, so three stunners should take it down.”

“I will help.” Lucius declared, sliding his wand smoothly from his sleeve and taking aim.

Harry’s heart was in his throat. Any second now, the game was up.

“On my count; Kingsley, you unlock on one!” James said, looking as if he would be violently ill as his eyes flickered back and forth between the crate and Harry. Harry could only think that however terrible James was feeling right now, he was feeling a hundred times worse

“Three, two, one!”

“Alohomora!”

The crate sprung open and before the aurors and Lord Malfoy could even get their stunners off, the room fell completely silent.

There, in the crate was no dragon. As a matter of fact, there was nothing in the crate at all. It was completely, undoubtedly empty.

Macnair’s next words summed up everyone’s feelings in the room except for Harry’s. 

“What the fuck?!!”

**The Previous Night.  
The Grounds of Hogwarts.  
11:47 PM.**

Charlus blinked. “Didn’t you want nothing to do with this?”

“Yes, and I still don’t.”

“What? But you just-“

“I want no part of it the way you’ve planned it out and I would be as far away from this thing as possible. But Malfoy and his group of lackeys took that option away from me and made it personal.” Harry then dawned a smirk that was far too evil for any eleven year old boy to wear. “Now, I’m going to make him pay for it.”

“How?”

“You, Weasley and Granger will take the dragon as planned, but you’ll do so on broomsticks. You can bring the cloak or not, the important thing is, Malfoy, his goons and maybe any teachers he tips off will be waiting in the castle. If you avoid the castle itself, you’ll have zero problems.”

Charlus gaped at him. “That’s… uh, actually really clever.”

“No need for the tone of surprise, little brother.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Sure thing, Charlie.”

Charlus scowled. “You’re impossible!”

“Yet you came running back to me.”

“Oh… shut up! That’s a good plan, but what does it have to do with Malfoy?”

Harry’s grin turned feral once more. “Ah, excellent question, Charlus. You see, that’s where I come in. When you and your friends are bringing the real dragon up to the tower unopposed, I will be freely walking into Draco’s trap.”

“What-“

“With a decoy crate that is completely empty.” 

Charlus’s jaw fell open. “Harry,” he breathed, “you do realize what that’ll mean, don’t you?”

“Yup.” Harry said almost cheerfully, popping the P as he did so.”Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn and Macnair will all be caught for levelling false accusations at the Heir of an Ancient and Most Noble House. Father will probably blast it out to the media in an effort to get at Lucius Malfoy, and he’ll probably sue the lot of them for a heap of galleons each.”

Now, it was Charlus’s turn to grin. “That’s evil.” he commended. “Brilliant, but evil!” He screwed up his face, clearly about to say something unpleasant. “I never thought I would say this and if anyone asks, I will deny it until the day I die, but I like the way you Snakes think sometimes!”

**May 9th 1992.  
The Great Hall.  
8:14 AM.**

_**Lord James Charlus Potter Accuses Three Heirs of Ancient and Most Noble Houses of Slander and False  
Accusations; Plans To Sue Each Family This Summer and More!  
By Rita Skeeter.**_

“How delightful.” Harry commented on the headline that greeted him as he slid into a seat beside Blaise and across from Daphne the morning after the dragon fiasco. It was the latest he had ever woken up at Hogwarts, but seeing as he had not even returned to the dormitory until after 2:00 AM, it was not all that surprising. All four of his friends’ attention snapped to him immediately.

“Where the hell have you been?” raged Daphne. “We haven’t seen you for almost two days and we’ve been worried sick!”

“Speak for yourself, Greengrass.” Blaise said languidly as he sipped his tea. “I, for one, had full and complete confidence in Harry.”

Daphne’s icy glare was enough to shut up even Blaise. “Yes, because you nervously pointing out the way Malfoy kept smirking at us was the perfect image of confidence, Zabini!” she snapped her head towards Harry so fast her hair flipped over her opposite shoulder. “Well?”

Harry hesitated, making sure nobody was in ear shot before he spoke. “The Den tonight, after curfew.”

Daphne looked livid but nodded her head anyways.

“Well, I’m blissfully clueless and all that,” Blaise said cheerfully as he gestured towards the article in the prophet, “but beautifully done, my friend, beautifully done.”

Harry could not suppress his grin. “I’m sure I don’t have any idea what you’re referring to, Zabini?”

“Ah yes, how foolish of me to assume you would.” Blaise added with a smirk of his own, sliding Daphne’s prophet under Harry’s nose. 

Curious as to how the prophet would spin it, Harry began to read.

_**Over the past number of hours, a shocking tale has come to light involving four Heirs to some of the most prominent houses of Magical Britain. This morning, I had the rare pleasure of speaking to one Lord James Charlus Potter; father of Charlus Potter Jr, The-Boy-Who-Lived, as well as one of the Senior Aurors employed by the DMLE.** _

_**According to Lord Potter, he along with two other colleagues were summoned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry late last night to investigate the actions of one Harry James Potter, Lord Potter’s elder son and Heir. According to Lord Potter, his son had been dragged into a teacher’s office by the Heirs to Houses Malfoy, Nott, Macnair and Selwyn. The four Heirs allegedly accused Heir Potter of smuggling a live dragon out of the castle.** _

_**Upon further investigation, it was proven that Heir Potter did no such thing at all and Lord Potter was justifiably furious at the slander of his eldest son.** _

_**“Trust Lucius Malfoy to come up with something like this,” he told me, “I doubt the kids had much to do with it. It was probably just Malfoy’s attempt to sabotage me, my career and my family, but fortunately, it went wrong.”** _

_**Lord Potter announced this morning that he will be formally pressing charges against the Malfoy, Macnair, Nott and Selwyn families respectively this summer, but would not give any more details on this scandal.** _

_**This calls into question not only the morality of the heads of house Malfoy, Nott, Selwyn and Macnair, but also the future of our society. If four children destined to take the helm of powerful, influential families are committing such heinous crimes before they have even taken, or in the case of Heirs Malfoy and Nott, thought of their O.W.L exams, what does that say for the future of our society? Lord Malfoy was acquitted of any ties to The Dark Lady over ten years ago now, but is it at all possible he is raising his son to harbour any of her philosophies?** _

_**For an in-depth look at Lord Malfoy’s legal past, turn to page 4.  
For information on the equally murky pasts of Lords Nott, Macnair and Selwyn, see pages 5, 6 and 7 respectively.** _

“She doesn’t pull any punches, does she?” Harry asked with some satisfaction once he’d finished.

Blaise laughed. “Not Skeeter. That woman is a harpy, but useful when she’s on your side.” he frowned. “Honestly, I’m not sure she’s ever been on your father’s side before, but I suppose when she can get a title like that out of it...” he let the thought trail off. 

Just then, Malfoy sauntered into The Great Hall alongside Crabbe and Goyle. To Harry’s great amusement, he did not take his customary seat with Macnair and his friends. Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and Malfoy dipped his head in a subtle yet distinctive gesture.

Surrender.

**May 9th 1992.  
The Speaker’s Den.  
10:39 PM.**

“So you mean to tell me that your brother smuggled a dragon out of the castle without a hitch while you perfectly framed Selwyn, Macnair, Nott and Malfoy, ruining the latter’s reputation in the process?” Blaise asked in awe.

“Pretty much.” Harry said upon the conclusion of the tale involving the dragon. 

“That was beyond reckless!” Daphne scolded. “What would have happened if Selwyn or Macnair just opened the crate before they got to Snape’s office?”

“They weren’t going to.” Harry said with disgust. “They were too busy gloating.”

“But what if-“

“Drop it, Greengrass.” Blaise drawled lazily. “It’s over and it worked to perfection, so let it go.” Daphne glared at him, but with visible reluctance, she did indeed let it go.

“Well, not quite perfectly.” Harry sighed. “I’ve got a detention some time coming up. Snape said he’d inform me when it got closer.”

“How did you get in trouble?” Tracey asked bemusedly.

“I blatantly broke curfew by almost two hours.” Harry deadpanned. “The reasoning may have been justified, but that didn’t stop the bat from putting me in detention anyway.” he sighed. “He didn’t take points though. Malfoy, Nott, Macnair and Selwyn have detentions with him until at least the end of the year. After that he said he’d be re-evaluating.” he drew air quotes around the ‘re-evaluating’ bit.

“Worth it.” Daphne noted savagely. “I just hope the little brat doesn’t try something again.”

“I don’t think he will,” Harry said quietly, remembering the way that Malfoy had ducked his head at the table earlier that same day, “I really don’t think he will.”

**Meanwhile, In The Slytherin Dormitories.**

In the privacy of his bed with the curtains drawn, Draco read over the letter he had received that morning from his father for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He still had absolutely no idea how to feel about it.

_Draco,  
I will tell you this once and once only; there will be no more antagonizing the Potter Heir. Like it or not, the half-blood has proven to be a dangerous opponent for you; one that you have proven yourself incapable of handling, at least for now. _

_I do not care what your relationship looks like with him from here on out, but do not dare risk another shred of our family’s reputation by antagonizing him further._

_We will speak more on this in the summer.  
Enjoy the remainder of your school year,  
Your Father._

**May 10th 1992.  
12:16 AM.**

_Harry:  
So you and your friends got the dragon to Weasley’s brother without any issues last night?_

_Charlus:  
Yup. I’m guessing your plan went well too, based on the Prophet?_

_Harry:  
Swimmingly._

_Charlus:  
Good to hear; no trouble or anything?_

_Harry:  
I have a detention coming up, but nothing beyond that, no._

_Charlus:  
Well that’s stupid, but worth it to take Malfoy down a peg or two._

_Harry:  
Some sacrifices unfortunately have to be made._

**May 26th 1992.  
The Entrance Hall.  
8:00 PM.**

Harry, as he had been told to do, made himself present promptly and punctually at 8:00 on the designated night of his detention. His face twisted into a subtle scowl when he saw the figure of Argus Filch looming nearby and though he masked it, he would have scowled far more harshly as Malfoy, Nott, Macnair and Selwyn quickly joined them in the hall.

“What’s he doing here?” Macnair snarled, glaring hatefully at Harry.

“You’re all in trouble for the same thing, aren’t you?” Filch asked snidely. “Makes sense you get the same punishment, doesn’t it?”

Macnair scowled. “You’re not one to talk about sense, squib. You shouldn’t even be at this school!”

Filch glared hatefully back at Macnair. “Oh, trust me, boy, if I could leave, I’d have got the hell out of here years ago!” Harry noted how odd that wording was, but honestly, he didn’t care enough about the Caretaker to do more than take note of it. “Now, hurry up, let’s go!” Holding a lantern in front of him, Filch led them not towards a Professor’s classroom or the Trophy Room, or any such normal destination for a standard Hogwarts detention. Instead, Filch led them straight towards the doors leading out onto the grounds, and it was not until they had stepped outside did Malfoy speak for the first time.

“Where are you taking us?”

For the first time, Filch allowed a twisted smile to grace his wrinkled lips. “The Forest is where you’re going tonight.” he said happily. “If I had my way, you’d be strung up in the dungeons by your wrists and ankles, but this’ll do alright too, eh?”

“But-but there are supposed to be werewolves in there!” Malfoy protested, suddenly sounding nothing like the pureblood Heir he was supposed to be as they drew nearer and nearer to Hagrid’s hut and the border of the Forbidden Forest.

Filch’s malevolent smile only widened. “Should’ve thought of that before you broke the rules, shouldn’t you?”

“Is tha’ you Filch?” boomed a thundering, familiar voice from out of the darkness up ahead and suddenly, Harry wasn’t sure if he felt more or less worried as the gigantic form of Hagrid came into sight, scowling at Filch. “Been terrorizin’ ‘em, have ya? Well, that’s not yeh’re job ya awful old prune. I’ll take ‘em from here.”

Filch scowled. “You shouldn’t be too nice to them, Hagrid.” Filch admonished. “They’re in detention after-“

“Ya ya, and ya probably want to string ‘em up by their wrists and ankles, don’t ya? Or maybe break out the old screws and thumb tacks?” he shook his great bushy head in disgust. “I told ya I’ll take ‘em from here. Get lost.” Filch scowled again but reluctantly turned on his heel and began to shuffle his way back up towards the castle. 

“I’m not going in that forest!” Malfoy said as soon as Filch was out of earshot. “This is ridiculous! This is servant’s work! We should be writing lines or-

Hagrid snorted. “Yeh‘ll do what yeh’re told if you wan’ to stay at Hogwarts. Writin’ lines? And what good’ll that do, eh? Nah, yeh’ll do some’in useful or yeh’ll go and pack yeh’re trunk. If ya think yeh’re father’d rather ya were expelled, be me guest, yeh’re free to go.” 

Malfoy didn’t move. 

“Righ’ then.” Hagrid said with noticeable satisfaction, “what ya’s will be doin’ tonight is helpin’ me track down a unicorn tha’s been hurt by some’in in the forest. Found one dead in their las’ Wednesday and there’s blood spattered all over, see?” he pointed to the outskirts of the forest. There was indeed faint trails of a silvery substance that Harry assumed was unicorn blood spattered across the grass. “I reckon the thing’s been stumblin’ around in there for days.” he suddenly looked sad. “I think we might have to put it out o’ its misery.” he looked at the five of them. “Right then, we’re gonna split up into two teams. One team’ll go with me, the other’ll go with Fang.” he patted the head of his great boar hound. 

“I want Fang!” Malfoy said at once.

Hagrid snorted once more. “Suit yehrself, but he’s a right coward.” He looked over them again. “Right. Malfoy, Nott and,” he paused for a fraction of a second too long, “Harry’ll go with Fang. Macnair and Selwyn, you two are comin’ with me.”

Hagrid made them prove their competence with shooting up green and red sparks and then the two groups embarked on their separate journeys into the forest. Harry, Malfoy and Nott wandered aimlessly for ages. Covertly, Harry noticed Nott shooting him vengeful glares. 

“If you try and curse me,” Harry told him bluntly, “I’ll make sure you end up at the feet of whatever’s been killing unicorns.” That stopped Nott cold. He did not stop glaring, but the glares carried far less intent from that point onward. 

After what felt like hours, the three Slytherin first years noticed that the thin trail of silvery blood that they had been following this whole time began to thicken. Suddenly, they stepped into a patch of moonlight unobstructed by the canopy of leaves above their head and their breath caught as one. 

In the clearing ahead, illuminated by the sudden unhindered flow of moonlight was a glowing silvery creature who was laying completely still. In its side was a large, painful looking gash and pooled around it was that same, silvery substance they had been following all night. In the moonlight, it seemed to sparkle mockingly as if it were some child’s glitter. Harry thought the irony of such a contradiction of the truth was almost painful. He was not an emotional person by any means, but he found his very heart aching for the unicorn in front of him.

Then, all sentimentalities were wiped clean from his mind when a bush rustled and a hooded figure stepped out into the clearing. 

“Ahhhh!” Malfoy screamed before booking it immediately. Before Harry could do so much as move, Nott had shoved him forward, hard, and sprinted off himself. Harry stumbled and just barely managed to stay upright before he looked up and gazed at the hooded figure. He was not able to tell anything of its identity from this vantage point. Then, before he could do so much as summon his wand to defend himself, his scar exploded in pure, unadulterated agony, and Harry fell to his knees as a gut wrenching scream was torn from his lungs. 

Luckily, this pain lasted only seconds as vaguely, as if from far away, Harry heard what sounded like the pounding of too many legs and then, mercifully, it was over. Slowly and shakily, Harry raised his head and allowed his jaw to fall open at what stood in front of him. The creature was taller than any man not named Hagrid and had a young, regal face. It’s lower half, however, was that of a well kept palomino.

“Harry Potter.” the centaur said in a low, quiet voice. It was not a question.

“Y-y-yes, sir.” Harry said as he shakily managed to climb to his feet. If he was less rattled, he may have wondered how the hell this creature knew who he was.

As if in answer to Harry’s question, the centaur gazed absentmindedly towards the heavens before looking back towards Harry. “Mars is very bright tonight.” it said conversationally. “As is Mercury, for that matter.”

Harry had read something about centaurs using astronomy as a sort of divination, but he had no idea what that meant. He knew, of course, that Mars and Mercury were planets in The Milky Way. The only other connection he could make, and he assumed this was probably it, was that in Roman mythology, Mars was one of Rome’s patron gods of war, and Mercury was the god of quite a few things; merchants, travellers, thieves... 

“Uh… yeah.” Harry answered. “What-what was that?”

The centaur appraised him. “Can you ride?” it asked instead of answering. “It will be quicker this way and the forest is not safe, least of all for you.” Harry had no idea what the centaur meant by that statement, but he did not question it. Instead, he simply clambered onto the creature’s back and allowed it to carry him through the forest. Once they were a safe distance away, the centaur endeavoured to answer Harry with a question of its own. 

“Do you know what unicorn blood is used for?”

“It has extremely powerful healing and restorative properties.” Harry said without missing a beat. 

“Do you know what would happen if one drank unicorn blood?”

Harry paused and thought for a moment. “Not exactly, no.”

“Unicorn blood would save a witch or wizard’s life even if they were on the brink of death.” the centaur told him. “Or,” it said, as an air of unmistakable significance crept its way into the creature’s voice, “it would serve to strengthen one more effectively than any mere potion.” it paused. “Do you see the flaw in this yet?”

“No.” Harry answered attentively, feeling uncharacteristically clueless but enjoying the learning experience if nothing else. 

“Magic centres around many things, Harry Potter.” the centaur told him. “One that some of your kind is fixated quite powerfully on is intent. Another is fate. Another still,” he said, his voice rising a touch in volume and significance still, “is balance. Magic does not just give infinitely. There are certain kinds of magics that require take, sacrifice.”

“I’m guessing that unicorn blood falls into that category.” Harry theorized quietly.

“It does indeed.” the centaur affirmed. “It does, after all, seem too good to be true, doesn’t it?” It did. “To live a life granted or extended by unicorn blood is to live a half life.” the centaur said at long last. “A cursed life, if you will. You have harmed something so good and so pure, magic very rarely lets you do such a thing without great sacrifices in the future.”

“But who would be that desperate?” Harry asked. He didn’t think that the figure in the clearing had looked too badly off.

“Can you think of no one?” the centaur asked him darkly. “No one who would go to such lengths to regain the power they once wielded? No one who has bided their time for years? No one who may wish to meet Harry Potter alone in a clearing in the dead of night?”

And it clicked; Harry actually gasped — he never gasped.

“Voldemort.” he breathed in little more than a whisper. The centaur nodded solemnly but then, something else clicked in Harry’s mind. “Hang on; you said that Voldemort would want to meet me in a clearing? Why me? It’s Charlus she should want.”

The centaur did not answer until after they had encountered a number of other centaurs who were furious with Firenze, and then, minutes later, when the figures of Hagrid, Nott, Malfoy, Macnair and Selwyn came into focus. “You both have a role to play.” were Firenze’s parting words to Harry as he allowed him to slide off of his back and take his place among his companions. 

**May 28th 1992.  
The Library.  
7:51 PM.**

By the time Harry was done recounting the story of the forest and Firenze’s words to Charlus, his twin was gaping back at him like a fish out of water. Harry hadn’t even told Blaise, Daphne or Tracey the bit about Voldemort, though they had heard an unfiltered version of everything else, hooded figure and all. Truthfully, Harry had no idea what Daphne’s family’s alliances were, and he was even less sure about Blaise’s. Tracey would probably have been safe, but she couldn’t keep a secret from Daphne if her life depended on it.

“She-she’s back?” Charlus asked.

Harry frowned at the question. “I don’t think she is.” he answered carefully. “Not really, anyways. Firenze really made it sound like she needed that blood to survive. Maybe she’s got herself a temporary body, or something?” he looked pointedly at Charlus. “It would explain why she’s after the Stone.” 

“I guess,” Charlus said, clearly worried, “but if she gets the Stone-“

“She won’t,” Harry said pointedly, “they say the only one she ever feared was Dumbledore. If that’s even remotely true, I can’t see her making a move under his nose.” That was a lie, but Harry did not want Charlus rushing after the greatest dark sorceress in a thousand years due to a misguided sense of self-obligation.

Charlus frowned. “I guess.” Harry could tell he wasn’t convinced.

Harry sighed and leant forwards. “Charlus, I have never asked you for anything in my life; I am asking you now to promise me, whatever happens, you won’t go rushing off after Voldemort.”

“Harry, I can’t-“

“Promise!”

Charlus hesitated. “I promise.”

**June 4th 1992.  
The Grounds of Hogwarts  
3:30 PM.**

Harry would be lying if he did not admit a small amount of relief upon the conclusion of his final exam, History of Magic. He had stopped coming to the class back in September, having frequently used that period to either explore the Castle or practice magic. He had faith in his memory and the textbook, but it was still nerve wracking to take a test for a class he had barely attended. 

In spite of that, he breezed through his History of Magic exam just as he had the rest. Astronomy was the one he was by far least sure of. He really hadn’t put a whole lot of effort into the subject. He considered it abstract at best, useless at worst. He felt that Herbology had gone reasonably well, as had Potions. He had debated coming up with a showcase worthy of the O+ in the class but it just hadn’t been feasible. He had spent so much time working on his idea for Defense that he just couldn’t come up with something that Snape would grant him an O+ on. 

Charms and Transfiguration were simple and he was certain he had the O+ in Transfiguration, and as near as he could be in Charms. He had lazily transfigured his mouse into a snuff box and then conjured water using Aguamenti. The feat actually had McGonagall gaping. It was a sixth year spell after all. It could technically be classed as a charm, but it was still a conjuration, and though it was naturally the easiest as it was considered a “natural conjuration” due to the fact humans were made up mainly of water, which, for some reason, made the spell easier to cast, it was still a conjuration at the end of the day.

For Charms, he had charmed his tea cup to tap dance, as asked, and then hit it with a cheering charm, a devilishly difficult third year charm that had taken him several hours of practice, before setting it to another routine. 

The most stressful by far had been defense. When Harry had completed the exam, he had opened his mouth to ask for the chance at extra credit but Hurst hadn’t even given him the option. “Well, Harry, what do you have for me now?”

He had to resist the impulse to gape. “Professor?”

“Come, Harry; with the amount of time we have spent together this year, I would be ashamed of myself if I did not know you at least a little bit.” she smiled. “Both of us would be disappointed if you did not give the O+ performance a try. So, what do you have for me?”

Harry’s visage became hard and determined. “Fire spells at me.” he told her. “Low level to start please, and start slow. You can work your way up as you see fit.”

Professor Hurst’s eyebrows rose but she raised her wand. “On your command.” Harry nodded. 

“Dolor.”

‘Averto!’

Spell deflection had been as difficult as Professor Hurst had promised. He had practiced relentlessly in the dungeon classroom with Daphne, Tracey and Blaise over the past few months and only recently had he pulled it off at all. 

At the last second, he swatted at the incoming spell with a quick, precise strike and sent it spiralling off to the right. 

Professor Hurst’s eyes gleamed as she raised her wand again. “Furnunculus.”

Again, Harry thought of the incantation, intent, and nature of the oncoming spell intensely before he managed to bat it away. 

This went on for a few more minutes, with Professor Hurst’s spells increasing in power before finally, Harry fell to a full-body-bind. 

“Full marks and then some.” she told him with an open smile. When he looked surprised, she waved her hand. “There is no need for secrets, Harry. This is the last time we will see each other in such a formal setting, after all, and we both know you did what you needed and more to achieve the grade.”

“What do you mean last time we’ll be seeing each other in a formal setting, professor?”

Professor Hurst smiled. “The curse on the Defense Against The Dark Arts position is more than just a myth, Harry. I was not foolish enough to promise Professor Dumbledore any more than one year of service. I will be leaving Hogwarts at the conclusion of the school year.” she smiled at him, waving her wand and causing something to float over to them. “I decided, however, that I would get you this.” Professor Hurst handed him what appeared to be a blank book. “Enchant you this would be more accurate. It will supply you with endless pages and will turn to the desired page with a thought. When you write down an idea or concept, it will automatically link that concept with information you have written down before and try to help you come to a conclusion.” Harry was actually gaping at her now as she smiled back at him. “You are a brilliant mind, Harry. I would not see such a mind go to waste. One day, I have every confidence that your thinking will change the world, and I would love to be a part of it.”

That had been days ago. 

Now, Harry simply laid back in front of the lake with Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, Calypso, Cassius, Hestia and Flora as they all talked and joked. It was almost as though they were just normal muggle kids and there were no plots obviously going on around them… 

Almost.

**June 4th 1992.  
The Gryffindor Dormitory.  
11:34 PM.**

Upon the effects of Hermione’s full-body-bind curse wearing off, there were five long minutes where Neville was unsure of what to do. Then, he defaulted to the one thing, the one person he trusted more than any other in the castle. The question was, how to contact him? And then he had remembered Charlus telling Ron something about a piece of parchment the Headmaster had enchanted to allow him to communicate with Harry. 

It took Neville half an hour to find it, buried at the bottom of Charlus’s trunk but when he did, he scribbled one, simple, urgent message.

_Harry, it’s Neville.  
Charlus, Ron and Hermione are gone from the common room.  
I’m afraid they might be going to do something stupid; they were really jumpy when I tried to stop them.  
Thought you ought to know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I did say things would get worse, didn’t I?**
> 
> **One more chapter to go for year 1 and you are all in for several more twists and turns than any of you bargained for, so buckle up and expect the unexpected!**
> 
> **On a side note, the line “Thought you ought to know” is one of my favourites from book 1, but I had to remove it earlier because of the changes I made involving the troll. I knew I’d find somewhere to include it right before everything went tits up though :)**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: Year 1’s final chapter will be posted next Saturday, June 6th 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


	18. For The Greater Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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**June 4th 1992.  
The Slytherin Dormitoies.  
11:52 PM.**

Harry stared down at his half of the enchanted set of parchments. He was in absolute awe of his brother’s stupidity. His exterior was a mask of perfect calm but in reality, his thoughts were complete and utter turmoil.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!’

For the most part, he was sick with an emotion that he had rarely if ever felt before — worry. 

As foreign as the thought had been to him at the start of the year, Harry genuinely did care for his brother and would much rather he did not get murdered by Voldemort or whomever was doing her bidding. There was, too, a part of Harry that was burning with red hot fury. Charlus had promised him that he would not run off after Voldemort. He had promised that under no circumstances would that change. 

Now, Harry had a serious dilemma on his hands. Should he go after his brother and risk his own death at the hands of the psychopathic Dark Lady that murdered his mother? Or should he stay behind in the dorms and risk that psychopathic Dark Lady getting her hands on a Stone that sounded like it would bring her back to the height of her power? In the end, it was Firenze’s words that spurred him to scribble his reply to Neville on the parchment.

_“Can you think of no one?” the centaur asked him darkly. “No one who would go to such lengths to regain the power they once wielded? No one who has bided their time for years? No one who may wish to meet Harry Potter alone in a clearing in the dead of night?”_

From what Harry had read on the topic of divination, it seemed a flimsy branch of magic for certain, but something about Firenze… he couldn’t put his finger on it, but the centaur most certainly had the air of someone who knew a lot more than they were letting on. The mention of how Voldemort would love to find him alone in a clearing was what did it. 

If Voldemort had any intention of harming him, Harry was going to do his utmost best to strike while she was at her weakest. With that being said, his plan was not to confront whoever was working for her. His plan was to stop Charlus and his group of idiots before they got themselves killed and hope that other actions on his part would bring more qualified adults into the picture. Of course, he had a feeling that his plans would not play out like that, but he could try. 

Harry:  
_Neville, I’m going after him; I know where he’s gone.  
If you can, get Dumbledore and tell him that Charlus has gone after whoever is trying to steal the Stone. Don’t ask questions, just do it.  
If you can’t get Dumbledore, McGonagall will do._

Harry put the parchment back in his bag and sat up, peering at Blaise’s bed. He knew that the bed was warded, but he really needed his friend awake right about now. Cautiously, Harry tossed the quill towards Blaise’s curtains. It hit them and nothing happened, but he had a feeling that would not remain the same if he himself touched them. Fortunately, he didn’t have to, as a moment later, the curtains slid aside and Blaise leaned his head out of them. Clearly, he had not yet been asleep.

“What?” he asked, still somehow managing to sound bored.

“I need you to get Professor Hurst for me.” he told Blaise. Normally, such an outlandish request would have prompted questions but evidently, Blaise could tell from Harry’s tone that there was a method to his madness.

“Anything else?” he asked, suddenly alert. 

“Yes,” Harry said, struggling now to keep his voice calm, “if you can get into the girl’s dorms and wake Daphne, Tracey or both; do it. Tell them to get Snape and give him the same instructions you’re going to give Hurst.”

“Which are?”

Harry took a deep breath. “Charlus Potter has gone after whoever he thinks is trying to steal the Stone tonight.”

Blaise’s eyes widened. “You’re not?”

“I am.” 

“Harry, this is stupid. If he’s right… this could be suicide.”

“Blaise, I’m sorry. There are things you don’t know, but the stakes are higher than you could ever imagine. Besides, I’m not planning on confronting whoever is trying to steal it. My plan is to stop my brother and hope teachers show up.” he paused. “Ideally, I’ll never even see whoever is after the Stone. Worst case scenario, I’ll do my best to distract them until somebody else shows up.” he closed his eyes, trying to keep both his interior and exterior as calm as possible. At the moment, it was a surprisingly Herculean task. “Right now, I just need you to do what I’ve asked.” He hesitated. “And… tell Daphne and Tracey, will you? Just in case, tell them…” but he couldn’t finish the sentence.

Blaise’s mask didn’t even crack as he nodded. “I understand.” he said gravely. “Harry, be careful… please?”

“Always.” 

**Ten Minutes Later.**

‘This is stupid. You have no bloody idea how to get past a Cerberus! This is the stupidest thing you've ever done in your life!’

“Alohomora.” 

The lock clicked and the door swung open. Luckily for Harry, he didn’t have to get past any such beast. The Cerberus was there alright, massive, three headed and terrifying. Fortunately for Harry, it was also motionless, unbreathing and unseeing — unmistakably dead. Privately, he thought that was far too convenient. Most any eleven year old boy may have exalted in the fact, but not Harry. He knew this could only mean one thing, at the very least, whoever was after the Stone had already been past this obstacle. He supposed that there was a chance that Charlus had not reached this point yet, but he doubted it. His brother had been gifted with a head-start, and Harry was sure that if Charlus hadn’t made it past the dog, it would not be overly difficult to tell.

His perception of the dumbest thing he had ever done in his life changed again a second later when he realized he would have to throw himself into complete and utter darkness. With an internal sigh, Harry thought that at least he would be getting the opportunity to try out one of the second year charms that he had read up about this year.

After all, in the past, desperation had always served as an excellent motivator for Harry to perform magic he had previously thought himself incapable of. Between the Protego shield and the next stage of Occlumency, Harry was starting to think desperation had some sort of definitive effect on magic. After unsuccessfully attempting to see what he may be jumping into or at least how far the fall may be, Harry threw himself through the open trapdoor and immediately held his wand tighter.

“Arresto Momentum!”

His fall slowed drastically and before he knew it, he landed safely, if a bit roughly on something soft and squishy. He tried to filter through his expansive bank of memories in order to figure out what he may have landed on by comparing the feeling, but he came up empty.

“Lumos!”

As his wand lit, a horrible screech of pain filled the cavern as his wand light illuminated a rather terrifying plant Harry had never seen before. 

‘Oh, the irony.’ he thought, flashing back to his first day in the greenhouses back in September. 

_“Some of the lessons you participate in within the walls of these greenhouses in future years will be some of the most difficult and dangerous work you will do while at this school. What?” she asked knowingly, as several people smirked exasperatedly. Padma Patil let out a rather loud, rather derisive snort, and Crabbe and Goyle actually snickered. “You don’t believe me, do you? Well then, can anyone here name me a plant that could potentially kill a witch or wizard?”_

_The class went dead silent._

_Harry’s hand rose into the air, as did the Asian girl’s from Ravenclaw — Su Li, as well as Daphne's._

_“Mr… Potter.” indicated the professor, and though Harry did not falter, he also did not fail to notice that the professor’s voice hitched a bit on his name._

_“Devil’s Snare.” he answered simply, to which she nodded, prompting him to go on. “It is a plant with tentacle like vines that will strangle anything that touches it.”_

_Patil was not laughing now and all of a sudden, Harry did not see any smiles on the faces dotted around the room._

_“Concise and correct, Mr. Potter. Take five points to Slytherin. Now, can anybody tell me how you would defend yourself against this plant?”_

_This time, the professor pointed out Daphne._

_“Light or fire.” she answered easily. “Devil’s Snare tends to prefer dark, damp climates, and is completely vulnerable to either option; though fire is the best way to actually kill the plant.”_

As this memory flashed through his mind, Harry brandished his wand towards the plant itself. “Incendio!” he roared, and the screams grew louder as the plant quickly backed away from him, leaving his path free. 

Harry scrambled up and out of the plant’s way. He did not so much as break stride when he entered the next chamber until he saw the… somethings flying in the air. 

At first, Harry thought they were some sort of odd magical creature that he had never seen before but upon a closer inspection, he realized that they were a number of keys. The possibility that they were charmed to attack him should he try and retrieve the correct one, which stood out rather obviously due to the fact that it’s wings were absolutely battered, clearly having been used at least once tonight, was still a very real possibility. 

Then, he saw the broomsticks. Hesitating, he took a few, cautious steps forward, waiting for something, anything to happen. Perhaps the keys would bare down on him with invisible talons? Perhaps some other guardian would appear. But nothing of the sort did, and before he knew it, Harry was standing on the other side of the room as he looked from the broomsticks in front of him to the keys far above. 

Rather ominously, Harry thought about how easy this all seemed. Surely none of this could actually stop a grown witch or wizard?

Taking hold of one, Harry launched into the air and began to weave through the keys. This was brilliant! No restraints put on him by Madam Hooch, just free flying. Later, if he survived, Harry would have to question and internalize the fact that in this moment, even so close to what he knew could be his imminent death, he was having more fun than he had experienced in ages. It didn’t last long, as in less than a minute, Harry had snagged the correct key and jammed it into the lock. He made to discard his broomstick but thought better of it. It could be useful.

In the very next chamber, it paid dividends when he saw the chess board laid out in front of him. He saw as well, to his great surprise, a bushy haired witch shaking from head to toe. 

“Granger?” he asked, making her jump a foot in the air before whirling on him, fumbling for her wand.

It wasn’t even a challenge. 

Harry’s wand snapped into his hand from his holster and before Granger could even fully draw her own, it was flying through the air towards Harry, who caught it easily. 

For a split second, the girl looked furious, then panicked, and then realization dawned in her eyes when she realized who had disarmed her. “Potter?”

“Nope,” Harry said with a roll of his eyes, “his long lost brother.” 

She scowled. “Give me back my wand!”

“Only when you’ve explained what the hell is going on! Charlus promised me he wouldn’t do anything stupid.” Then, his eyes narrowed. “Unless you and the idiot Weasley forced or convinced him?”

She flushed. “We would do no such thing!”

“Weasley would probably do it for the laughs. You probably wouldn’t normally, but if you thought you were right, I bet you could justify it.” Before she could start on a tirade, he levelled her with a glare that froze her in place. “Explain!”

“No! I’ve got to go get Professor McGonagall!”

‘For fuck sake!’

He debated trying to explain to her that he already had somebody on that, but decided against it. After all, he very much doubted that Hermione Granger knew Occlumency. 

Luckily for him, the events of the night were on her mind, so he merely had to push past her eyes and observe for several long seconds. When he looked away, she staggered. “What-“

“Go, now!” and he threw her back her wand and mounted his broom, kicking off from the ground and simply flying over the chess set and through the next chamber where he already knew the troll to be lying dead. He didn’t even spare the fallen Weasley a glance, nor did he look back at the still frozen, still baffled form of Hermione Granger as he discarded his broom before entering the final chamber Granger had seen. When he entered said room he took the correct vial without hesitating, which had refilled itself, and downed it. With one last, final breath, Harry walked through the flames into the unknown. 

Holding that breath in an effort to maintain his invisibility, Harry did a quick scan of the room which took only seconds. A terribly familiar mirror, a figure standing in the shadows, and another on the ground, bound in ropes. Without a thought, Harry’s wand aimed at the standing figure’s throat. He had planned to distract the figure, but he had such a perfect opportunity to end it now and honestly, all plans had sort of gone out the window when he saw his brother bound in ropes.

“Diffindo!”

Unfortunately, though the figure did seem extremely surprised, they were just as fast. They whirled and seemingly without effort, they batted Harry’s spell away. Harry lost the advantage of invisibility a second later when he glimpsed the woman’s face and let out a gasp as his eyes bulged, his jaw fell open, and his heart nearly stopped. “You?!”

“Me.” Professor Hurst answered lazily, smiling fondly back down at Harry. “That was a well aimed spell,” she told him, “you’ve done well this year, but you negated the advantage of your invisibility by shouting your spell for the gods to hear. If non verbal casting is beyond you, you should have at least whispered the spell. That isn’t even taking into account your failure to use the ring to its full potential. You should have observed me from the other room using its auditory features. That way, you could have kept your surprise to yourself and maintained the advantage of invisibility in conjunction with the whispered incantation.”

Harry wasn’t sure what was more shocking to him; the fact that his mentor was stood in front of him, most likely helping the Dark Lady gain back her powers, or the fact that she was lecturing him on tactics when he had just tried to murder her.

Then, something else clicked. “You know about the ring?” then, his eyes widened again. “You! It was you who sent the ring?”

“Ah, I had wondered when you would piece together the identity of your not-so-secret admirer. Yes, I enchanted the ring and thought you could make some use of it. I confess, I never thought you would use it in an attempt to forestall my plans.”

“But it can’t be you.” Harry breathed, still barely able to speak. 

Professor Hurst merely raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And why can’t it be me, Harry?” she asked him, sounding as if he had merely proposed an interesting theory in her class. 

“You wouldn’t help Voldemort.” he told her. “You’ve been helping me all year. You saved me from the troll. You helped me that day I lost control of my magic. You taught me how to fight and you just told me that you enchanted me a priceless magical artifact.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Harry.” she told him exasperatedly. “Just because I did all of those kind things doesn’t mean I can’t support Lady Voldemort. What have I been preaching to you all year, granted, as covertly as I possibly could? There is no such thing as light and dark and good and evil, only power, and the intent with which it is wielded.”

“But it doesn’t make sense.” Harry protested. “You’ve been helping me, but Voldemort would want to kill me.”

Hurst blinked; she actually looked confused. “Why would Voldemort want to kill you?”

“I’m the Boy-Who-Lived’s brother.” Harry pointed out the obvious. “And in the forest… when I ran into her — at least, I think it was her, the centaurs told me-“

“Divination is such a fickle art, Harry.” Professor Hurst said softly, an odd anger lacing her tone. “It can predict the rough outline of events for certain, but it tells nothing of their intricacies. It can speak of the pawns but says nothing of their motives.” Hurst appraised him for several moments. “Lady Voldemort does not wish to kill you.”

Harry gaped. “So… you have been helping her? How do you know that? Has she told you?”

Professor Hurst’s lips curled up into a knowing smile. “You are very clever, Harry.” she complimented him. “But you are missing the truth that is staring you right in the face, both literally and metaphorically — I am Lady Voldemort.” 

‘Oh… fuck!’

“But that’s-“

“Impossible? Implausible? Ridiculous? Yes, your brother thought so too.” she gestured to Charlus, bound and gagged on the floor. “You see, Harry, your brother,” she paused, “or you, I suppose, as I am not sure, did not truly defeat me ten and a half years ago, only vanquished me. Granted, I was weak, I was less than the meanest spirit, less than the average ghost, but I was still very much alive. My powers were all but gone, but I maintained a certain control over mind magics, which enabled me, in conjunction with my wraith form, to possess other creatures.” her lips curved upwards in a bitter smile. “Snakes were my favourite, for obvious reasons, but they could not host my spirit for long; their bodies were too weak, their minds too frail. There was a long time, Harry, where I thought I may never get a body back.” Her smile was more pleasant now, as if remembering a rather fond memory.

“That all changed when an American witch stumbled into my domain. How she came to be so far in the forests of Albania, I will never know, but there she was.”

“So you… what, possessed her?” Harry asked, transfixed with equal bits horror and intrigue. 

“Yes and no.” she replied clinically, as if discussing something academic. “Another power I maintained was the ability to speak with snakes.” she shrugged. “There were no shortage of venomous serpents to strike the stranger down for me. From there, I merely had to hitch a ride in her body.”

“You’ve lost me again,” Harry said, using every ounce of proficiency he had with Occlumency to maintain a clear and non panicked mind. He had to keep her talking.

“Why get the stone at all then? You have a body?”

“It is not that simple.” she told him. “This body is not mine, not accustomed to my soul, nor compatible with my magic. Within the body of another, my magic is limited, terribly weak by comparison to what it would be in my own body. I do not, by example, have any ability with wandless magic in this body. In my own, I was perhaps the most proficient magic user in the world within the field. 

“There are other problems, as well,” she continued, “this body, as I have said, is unaccustomed to my soul. The months of carrying it have weakened this vessel greatly.” she smiled at Harry. “You saw me hunting unicorn blood, Harry. Without it over the past number of months, this body would have already failed me. Now though,” she told him, “now, I have no need for this body; not once I take the Philosopher’s Stone from your brother’s pocket.” Harry wondered how the hell Charlus had wound up with the Philosopher’s Stone in his pocket, but he did not comment on the fact.

“It’s been you then,” Harry said as several pieces clicked into place, “you tried to kill Charlus at the Quidditch match?”

“You sound surprised?”

“You said you don’t want to kill me, and you also said…” he paused as the thought registered with him for the first time, “you said me or Charlus destroyed you ten and a half years ago?”

She smiled at him once more. “Ah, caught up, have you? Yes, I did indeed do my best to kill Charlus at that match. It would have worked too, if not for Severus muttering the counter curse under his breath.”

“But I saw Sinistra-“

“The Imperius curse is a wonderful thing, Harry.”

He paused as his mind blanked for a second. “The troll…” he breathed.

Voldemort frowned. “The what?”

“You let the troll in on Halloween or,” his eyes widened, “you imperiused Higgs to let it in and go check the corridor for you. It didn’t show up when Dumbledore tried using Priori Incantatem, but neither did The Killing Curse, so you clearly have a way around that.” but a moment later, Harry was even more surprised than he had been upon coming to that realization as Voldemort was shaking her — no, Hurst’s — no, the American witches head.

“I did not do that.” she said, sounding completely genuine. “I have no idea who let the troll in on Halloween. I suspect your theory about Higgs, which, for your information, the Headmaster shares has some validity. I assure you, however, I did not place Terence Higgs under the Imperius curse, nor do I know who did it.”

Harry supposed that it was just his luck that there was yet another mysterious murderous lunatic running around.

“How did you get around the reverse spell effect? I read about it after Charlus told me about the conversation he’d eavesdropped on. It seemed fairly fool proof.”

Hurst shrugged. “Acquiring a second wand from a most unlucky wizard on the way back to Britain was not difficult.”

“Wait, so you had the American witch's wand and the other wizard’s? Aren’t other’s wands not supposed to work for you?”

“That is a broad and only partially correct statement. They will not work nearly as well as your own, but for a true master of magic, it does not stop them. I could likely project the Killing Curse through a wand that fought my magic tooth and nail based on my level of magical control. The wands are an irritant, but little more than that.”

That was interesting, and mildly terrifying. “What was that bit about me or Charlus then? Everybody knows Charlus vanquished you.”

“People know nothing.” Voldemort said dismissively. “I cast the killing curse that night at you, Harry, not your brother.” Harry’s jaw fell open and Charlus’s eyes bulged from his place on the floor. “Your brother tried to push you out of the way.” she shrugged. “I have no idea which of you the curse struck, but truthfully, I do not care.”

“You don’t care?” Harry asked incredulously.

“A prophecy spoke of a boy with the power to vanquish me. Granted, I heard but a piece of the prophecy, but as far as I am concerned, it has been fulfilled. No, I need only kill Charlus Potter to prove that their beacon of hope was not enough.” If Harry survived this ordeal, he would need to look into prophecies.

She fixed Harry with that intense stare. “You though, Harry, do not need to die. Your potential is near unlimited; I sensed it that night in Godric’s Hollow and you have proven it to me throughout the entirety of this year. We are not so different, Harry. I understand you more than anybody you have ever met could ever understand you.” her eyes were gleaming once more. “Join me, Harry. Keep what happens down here a secret, allow me to strike from the shadows and I will teach you the truth of all magics. With my tutelage, you will master all of its branches and intricacies. Together, we can topple Dumbledore and tear this polluted world down brick by brick only to build it anew. Stronger, greater, better in every way the brain can conceive.” she met his gaze hungrily. “Tell me you do not want that, Harry? I can grant you anything.”

Charlus was thrashing in his binds now, desperately trying to escape. Harry’s wand hung limp at his side as he was completely and utterly frozen but Voldemort made no move to disarm or attack him. It all came down to this. Harry could join Voldemort and privately, he thought that there truly was a good chance that they could do exactly what she told him. This could be how he did it, how he overshadowed his brother and father — hell, even Dumbledore. 

Two things gave him pause, however. In this new world, what place would people like Tracey have; half bloods from no name families? But Tracey was his friend… he would never support a world in which she would do anything but thrive. He was no fan of muggles, but he despised the concept of blood purity down to its roots. And Voldemort, for everything she had done for him this year was, at the core, still the woman who had started the downward spiral that had become Harry’s life. He may not believe in good and evil, but there were certainly some principles that he absolutely believed in. After all, he had named his owl Nemesis for a reason. 

“I want to,” he told her softly, and Charlus thrashed even harder, “I want to outdo my brother and father more than anything else, but… you ruined my life, and frankly, we don’t have the time for you to explain yourself.” Before Voldemort could react, Harry’s wand was aimed at Charlus.

“FINITE INCANTATEM!”

A second later, Harry had to dodge a jet of red light that he recognized as the stunner. Odd, how she was still not trying to kill him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Charlus scrambling furiously for his wand and knew that he had to hold off Voldemort until he got to it.

“You don’t understand,” she told him again, sounding more sad than upset, “we are alike, Harry. I understand your decision and I would have chosen the same at the age of eleven, but you need to listen to me. There is so much you don’t understand. So much about me, so much about Dumbledore, so much about the worl-“

“Lacero!” he cried, trying the dark cutting curse his older friends had taught him for the first time. It worked, but Voldemort shielded easily, though she looked surprised. 

“I am impressed, Harry. I certainly did not teach you that, but it hardly matters. I will explain everything later, but for now, I must end this little game of ours.” And just like that, the kid gloves she had been wearing during their mock duels came off and Harry felt as if he was being attacked by not one woman, but a battalion of warriors that had him completely surrounded. Spells came from everywhere, none of them he knew. He dodged, shielded and deflected like a mad man but within seconds, he was dangling helplessly upside down with his wand clattering out of his hand in the same position she had forced him into the first day they had shared a defense classroom together. 

She whipped around and took aim at Charlus.

“AVADA KE-“ 

Before she could finish the incantation, Charlus lunged forward, abandoning magic as a whole as he slammed into the taller woman’s knees and sent her sprawling. Before she could retrieve her fallen wand, Charlus clambered on top of her and grabbed her by the throat. Before he could attempt strangling her, Hurst — or Voldemort — or whoever, let out a terrible, blood curdling scream as suddenly, the terrible stench of burnt flesh filled the chamber. Charlus paused for a moment as he too let out a cry of agony that Harry could not understand the origin of. He would have cursed his twin for the weakness had his scar not exploded in pure, unadulterated pain at that exact same moment.

Charlus was screaming too and Hurst was on top of him now. But then she started screaming and the pain in Harry’s scar doubled as he, Charlus and Hurst all screamed in a terrible catcophony of pure agony and torture before finally, it became too much, and Harry gave into the darkness and felt or heard nothing at all.

**June 5th 1992.  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
The Hospital Wing,  
1:46 AM.**

Daphne sniffed once more as she sat in a chair beside Harry’s bed, keeping a rather firm grip on his hand as she did so. Blaise and Tracey had stayed for quite some time, but they had decided to leave a few minutes earlier. They would be meeting in the Speaker’s Den when Daphne was finished. Harry had graciously told them the odd password he had chosen. He had imposed two conditions. The Den was only to be used in emergency situations when they were one-hundred percent certain they would not be seen. And none of them were to attempt sitting in the throne-like chair. Neither of those conditions had seemed unreasonable, so Daphne, Blaise and Tracey had acquiesced without complaint.

At the moment, Daphne had eyes for only the boy lying prone in the bed at her side. She wasn’t sure how she had grown so close to him over the year, but Harry felt like an extension of her family already. It physically pained Daphne to see him like this and now that she was alone, she allowed the tears to fall freely and quietly from her eyes. She hated seeing those close to her hurt. It reminded her forcefully of the early days of her friendship with Tracey so many years earlier even though the two situations were so different. She was grateful that Madam Pomfrey had let her stay in the Hospital Wing, even if it had taken some convincing from the Headmaster.

Five or so minutes later, Daphne was snapped out of her quiet sobbing when a familiar voice spoke from nearby, though the tone of said voice was far softer than she had heard it before. “Ms. Greengrass, for the sake of both of us, please do your best to pull yourself together.”

Daphne whirled around as best she could without jostling Harry since she still had a hold of his hand. With her free hand, she quickly tried to brush the tears from her eyes as she peered upon the stony visage of her Head of House. “P-Professor?”

Snape nodded curtly, withdrawing his wand and conjuring a chair beside hers before taking a seat in said chair heavily. 

Silence stretched on between them for another five minutes before the Potions Master broke it. “You have all done very well tonight.” he commended in an odd, hollow sort of voice.

Daphne looked at him again. His eyes too were fixed on Harry, but there was no discernable emotion within them.

“We didn’t do much, Professor.” Daphne told him bitterly. 

“That, Ms. Greengrass, is precisely where yourself, Ms. Davis and Mr. Zabini succeeded.” 

Daphne peered confusedly at the man. “Professor?”

“Without the Headmaster’s intervention, Ms. Greengrass, I fear your friend’s and his twin’s struggles would have been in vain. There were many ways you could have reacted to a realization as jarring as the one you were exposed to this evening. You could have simply ignored the plea from Mr. Potter, seeing it as a drastic and unfounded overreaction. Such a reaction would have been perfectly reasonable, but for reasons I hope for your sake I do not need to expand upon, the result of that course of action would have been… unpleasant.” Daphne gulped at the mere thought as Snape pressed on.

“The second path you and your friends could have taken was the one most steeped in cliches and idiocy. You could have foolishly rushed after Mr. Potter in an attempt to save him. An attempt which, for your information, would have failed rather horribly.” Daphne tried to suppress a wince. If she had gotten her way, that was the exact course of action they would have taken. Thank Merlin that Blaise had been so composed and resolute.

“The three of you chose the path most suited to the noble House of Salazar Slytherin. You analyzed the situation and understood that any other course would be foolish. By alerting those superior to yourselves, you prevented a great travesty tonight and for that, Ms. Greengrass, you have done Slytherin House proud.”

Daphne bit her lip. “What about Harry, Professor?”

Snape closed his eyes and did not answer for several seconds. “Competent Potter rushed off in a manner that was self serving and foolish.” he raised his hand to prevent any interruptions. “With that being said,” he continued, suddenly sounding as if he had sucked on a rather sour lemon, “from what myself and the Headmaster have gathered, his display was nothing short of admirable. The approach was strategically flawed, but Mr. Potter is well on his way to perhaps rebuilding some of the reputation that our House has tarnished over the years, decades and centuries.” Snape sighed and looked at Daphne. “It is very late, Ms. Greengrass, and I am no fool. I know perfectly well you will be up late into the night, uselessly theorizing about what may or may not have taken place. I recommend you do so promptly. Mr. Potter will remain here until tomorrow, at which point you may return.”

“Professor?”

“Ms. Greengrass.”

“Do you know what happened to him? Do you know why he is like this?”

Snape paused, seeming to hesitate before he answered very slowly. “I do not know why either of them have found themselves in the state they are in, but I can tell you two things on the matter. Firstly, neither of them were hit by any spell which had the effects of anything more than restraining its target. And secondly, both of them will recover with no lasting physical injuries.”

Daphne stood shakily to her feet, noting how odd and out of character this had all been for her Head of House. “Good night, Professor, and thank you.”

**Ten Minutes Later In The Speaker’s Den.**

As she left the hospital wing, wiping a stray tear from her eye as she went, Daphne still felt rather sick to her stomach at the image of one of her best friends, pale, motionless and unmoving, lying face up in a hospital bed. What was more disturbing still was the fact that Madam Pomfrey knew nothing about what had happened, nor, apparently, did Snape. Daphne had managed to find Professor Snape in quick succession after Blaise had woken her in the middle of the night, and the man had contacted the Headmaster at once using an odd, silvery spell that she did not know. According to Professor Snape, no physical harm had been done to either Potter, but that made absolutely no sense. 

When Daphne had finished filling Blaise and Tracey in on all of this, Blaise’s brow was furrowed. “That doesn’t make any sense.” he answered through pursed lips.

Daphne sighed and rolled her eyes. “That is the exact point I just brought up, Zabini.”

“I’m aware, I was simply adding to it. If there was no spell that hit him designed to do any damage, why is he completely out of it?”

“And why doesn’t anybody know what did it?” Tracey added in a small, worried voice.

“You don’t know of any magic that could do such a thing, Blaise?” Daphne asked.

Blaise shook his head sharply. “I know some questionable things, Daphne, but that’s not one of them.” Daphne nodded, accepting the statement. There was a long, tense pause before Blaise spoke carefully. “I know we made the right choice by going to the teachers,” he began, “but I wonder… I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t let Harry go.”

“You couldn’t have stopped him.” Daphne told him reasonably. “Don’t dwell on it, Blaise. In the most polite way possible, if Harry wanted to get past you, he would have.”

Blaise sighed languidly. “Yes, yes, I know he would have. It still feels odd, knowing that you made the right decision but not being happy with it.” he hesitated. “I… was never raised with much of a moral compass.” he admitted. “I know that strategically, we made the right decision, but was it the right call morally?” It seemed to Daphne as if Blaise was genuinely asking, but she had no good answer.

“I don’t know, Blaise.” she told him honestly. “I really don’t know.”

“This is all pointless!” Tracey exclaimed, drawing the attention of the other two. “What good is it to beat ourselves up over things that are done and that we can’t change? We did what Harry asked us to do. We did what we thought was right and it worked. That’s the end of it. Things happen for a reason. Life can be complicated, but things usually work out in the end. Let’s forget about this, ok? I know we don’t know Harry super well or anything, but I guarantee you that he wouldn’t want us to be arguing over what should and shouldn’t have been done.”

On the surface, they were so different that sometimes, Daphne forgot how truly similar Harry and Tracey really were. But all three of them knew she was right. Daphne knew it even better than the other two. Her mind flashed back to a corridor months earlier where Harry had told her the events of the past could not be changed and he would not be going out of his way to seek revenge on those who had wronged him.

“Tracey’s right.” Daphne put in. “I doubt any of us are going to be able to sleep, but it’s worth a shot.”

Ten or so minutes later, once Daphne, Blaise and Tracey had all left The Den, there was a shimmer near the seemingly dead-end corridor, and a tall girl with dirty blonde hair flickered into existence. 

“How interesting.” Grace murmured, running her wand gently along the carving of the serpent as her bluish silver eyes studied the wall intently.

**June 8th 1992.  
The Hospital Wing.  
9:32 AM.**

Harry woke with a soft groan and quickly tensed when he realized he had no idea where he was. Immediately, he sat bolt upright, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in his head as he fumbled for his wand. 

“Easy.” a familiar voice said from beside him, though it was cooler than Harry had heard it in some time. 

He relaxed if only a bit. “Charlus… what’s going on? Voldemort? The Stone? Where are we?”

“Harry, it’s fine. Voldemort’s gone and Flamel chose to have the Stone destroyed. It’s over.” 

“Where are-“

“Hospital wing.” Charlus said tiredly. “I only woke up an hour and a half ago. Professor Dumbledore just left about an hour ago; he told me everything that happened when he got there. He said he’s gonna talk to you in his office later.”

Harry relaxed, if only a bit. “She’s not… you know, really gone though, is she?”

“Nope.” Charlus said bitterly. “I destroyed her body, but not her. At least, that’s what Professor Dumbledore told me.”

Absentmindedly, Harry wondered how that worked. He thought once the body was destroyed, the soul should inevitably follow. He also did admittedly have to concede that he knew absolutely nothing on that front.

“What day is it?”

“June 8th.” Charlus told him. “We’ve been out for a little over three days.”

“But why-“

“I dunno why you were out.” his voice was just a fraction too cold for Harry not to pick up on. “Professor Dumbledore told me I used a lot of magic destroying Voldemort’s body, so my body was in shock or something.”

“Probably intense magical exhaustion.” Harry noted.

“Yeah,” Charlus muttered, “that.” there was an awkward moment of silence. “Harry?” Charlus asked tensely.

“Yes?”

“Down in the chamber, when Voldemort asked you to join her… you hesitated.”

“No, I didn’t-“

“Yes you did!” Charlus argued, his voice rising in volume as some heat flushed into his cheeks. “You even said you wanted to-“

“Merlin, you’re dense.” Harry said with a roll of his eyes. “I was trying to distract her, you idiot.”

“I’m the idiot! You-“

“Yes, you are! You promised me, Charlus; you promised me that you wouldn’t go after her. You told me under no circumstances-“

“Dumbledore was gone! We knew she’d make her-“

“UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES! What part of that don’t you understand? Merlin, you’re thick.”

“But you said-“

“To distract her and buy us some time! Which I never would have had to do if not for you being an idiot and rushing after her like a bloody Gryffindor!”

“This bloody Gryffindor was the one who saved your arse and vanquished her again!”

“Only because this bloody Snake saved your arse first. If I didn’t show up, she’d have killed you and got off with the Stone. I bet she had you bound in seconds.”

“That’s not-“

“You’re a terrible liar, little brother.”

“I’m a terrible liar? Says the one who’s going on about distractions while he was tempted to go dark! What was that about outdoing me and dad?”

“Yes, I want to be better than the brother who treated me like a prat for the colour of my robes and the father who abandoned me. I fail to see what’s wrong with any of that.” he scowled. “And to go back to your earlier point, we don’t even know if you vanquished her the first time. She said herself-“

“I think that secret has revealed itself now, Mr. Potter.” said a vaguely familiar voice. Harry and Charlus, who was red faced and furious, turned to the doorway of the hospital wing. Standing there were two figures. The first was James who, surprisingly, didn’t quite look right. He looked concerned for his sons, but it wasn’t the dominant emotion on display. He was pale and looked almost sick and he wouldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. The other man in the doorway, the speaker, was Dumbledore and most uncharacteristically, there was no twinkle in the old man’s eyes. 

“Charlus… Harry.” odd again, the awkward, nervous pause before James said Harry’s name. “Are you two alright?”

“Fine.” Charlus dismissed hotly as Harry nodded. 

“If you are quite alright, Harry,” Dumbledore cut in, “I think this an excellent time for the meeting I think the two of us must partake in. I have just concluded my meeting with your father and have already spoken at length with your brother. If we are quick about such things, we will finish in time for the Leaving Feast and there are… certain matters we must discuss.”

“Yes sir.” Harry answered curtly, standing immediately and once again ignoring the pain in his head. He just needed to get out of the room with Charlus, who was positively fuming and was seriously testing Harry’s patience right about now. Dumbledore must have noticed, because without any more preamble, he gestured for Harry to follow him and swept straight out of the Hospital Wing.

Neither of them spoke until they came to a handsome stone gargoyle that Harry had passed numerous times this year during his explorations of the castle. “Lemon drop.” Dumbledore said, and his voice was less jovial, more curt than Harry had ever heard it before. Harry didn’t even have the energy to be surprised as he climbed the spiraling staircase behind the Headmaster and entered his office, taking the comfortable armchair across the desk from Dumbledore upon the man’s prompt to do so. 

For a moment, neither man spoke; then, Dumbledore broke the ice. “I suspect, seeing the state I found you in, that you are not in the mood for niceties so I shall try and be quaint. I am sure you have questions for me?”

“Yes.” Harry answered without pause. “What happened? Charlus just told me he destroyed her body.”

“That is the crux of it.” Dumbledore told him. “To answer your question, Harry, I must take you back to Halloween 1981 and explain how it is that your brother survived the Killing Curse.”

“Professor, it may not have been-“

“Charlus has told me what Lady Voldemort told you down in the chamber, Harry.” Dumbledore said. “That is a most interesting turn of events but after what took place a number of days ago now, I think that we can doubtlessly assume now for certain that it was indeed Charlus who survived Voldemort’s attack.

“You see, Harry, your mother died that night in an effort to save both you and your twin. Your mother stood tall and looked Lady Voldemort dead in the eye. She refused to step aside and allow Voldemort to strike the two of you down and that, I am certain, is what allowed Charlus to survive the curse. Though, in actuality, it would have done the same for you had you indeed taken the curse as Lady Voldemort seemed to have initially intended.”

Harry was confused. “How would that make any difference, sir?”

“Because, Harry, there are certain magics outside the scope of that which we teach at this wonderful school. Two of those magics are love and sacrifice. Now, The Ministry of Magic would doubtlessly want me to hide the existence of both from you but in my estimation, you, perhaps even more than your brother, have the right to know. 

“Sacrificial magic is some of the oldest magic in existence. It is limitless in its applications but its few principles are centred in balance. If one wishes to achieve a goal, they must sacrifice something equal to or greater than that goal.”

“So my mother intentionally died to save us? Like… a ritual, or something?”

“Goodness no, my boy.” Dumbledore told him and Harry frowned.

“But… sir, isn’t all magic fuelled by and dependent upon intent?”

The old man’s eyes twinkled. “You really are brilliant for your age, Harry. In most cases, you are indeed correct. In the case of that night, however, there was more at play. I spoke already of a second branch of magic, that being love. Love is a magic that is a mystery to even the greatest minds we have at our disposal. It is my belief that the love your mother had for the both of you served as the catalyst that night in the place of intent.

“When Lily Potter refused to step aside and refused to allow Voldemort to harm either one of her children, choosing instead to give her own life, that did it. Her sacrifice cast a protection over your brother that was so powerful that Lady Voldemort’s curse could not touch him. Even now, ten and a half years later, her body was vaporized by mere contact with your brother. That, I believe, is how we can be certain that your brother is indeed the survivor, Harry. Lily gave her life and as great as it was, it was only one life. Sacrificial magic has its roots in balance, as I have said. She only sacrificed one life, therefore, she could only save one life.”

Ringing silence ran through the office for over a minute before Harry pulled his racing thoughts and emotions under control enough to speak. “So… it definitely is Charlus then?”

“Yes Harry, it is most definitely Charlus.”

Harry wasn’t sure whether or not he should feel relieved or angry at that. It would have set him apart, it would have overshadowed all of them — put him above. But at the same time, if Dumbledore knew this now, Voldemort probably did too. Personally, he preferred not being at the top of her hit list. 

“Voldemort definitely is gone then?” he asked, sticking with that train of thought.

Dumbledore sighed, suddenly looking every bit his age. “That, my dear boy, depends on your definition of the word gone. She has been vanquished once more, certainly, but just as certainly, she is still out there; terribly weak, bodiless, powerless, but very much alive in a twisted, warped sense of the word.”

“How did she survive in the first place, sir? If Charlus only survived the killing curse because of our mother’s sacrifice, then why is Voldemort alive?”

A tumult of emotions flashed so fast in the Headmaster’s eyes that Harry could not catch them. He did catch enough to know that whatever the Headmaster said next would almost certainly be a lie. “On that, Harry, we can only wonder. Rest assured, however, it is something I fully intend on discovering.”

Harry knew it would be pointless to press any further. Dumbledore had some personal reason for not telling Harry and that was the end of it.

“I have one more question, sir.”

“Just the one? Go on then, Harry; time is of the essence.”

“Yes sir. Why was Voldemort so insistent on killing me and Charlus? I had always assumed it was to kill our parents, but she didn’t kill my father and now you’re telling me that she gave my mother the option to step aside.” Technically, Dumbledore had only implied that, but it was not exactly difficult to read between the lines.

Dumbledore smiled sadly at him. “You are very perceptive for your age. As a matter of fact, you are marginally too perceptive. I am truly sorry, Harry, but I can not tell you that. I do know and one day, when you’re older, when I think you are ready, you shall know too, but today is not that day.” 

And again, Harry knew that no matter what he said, it would make absolutely no difference. “Yes sir.”

“Before you dine on our lovely feast that is due to begin momentarily,” Dumbledore told him, and suddenly, a feeling of dread filled Harry as Dumbledore was suddenly stiff as a board and more business like than Harry had ever seen him, “there is one last order of business we must cover.”

“Sir?”

“I am speaking of your living arrangements, Harry.”

Harry bit back his confusion. “There’s nothing to discuss, Headmaster. My father has already told me that I will be staying with him this summer.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore said, looking sheepish and suddenly, Harry knew with utter terror what was about to happen, “I am afraid, Harry, that James spoke without knowing the full scope of that decision.”

“You can’t send me back!” Harry snapped, kicking back his chair as he leapt to his feet, all composure gone as his heart rate tripled. Gone was the calm, slick mask that years with the Dursleys and a year in the Snake pit had forged. Gone was the polite boy that greeted all of his teachers. In his place was a boy fuelled by the desperation of a life of abuse and a small, desperate window of escape. “That’s not your decision! James Potter is my father, my guardian! James Potter-“

“Has agreed during our meeting earlier today upon hearing my thoughts on the matter that it would be best to send you back to Privet Drive.”

“HE WHAT?!” Harry’s eyes were glowing now and magic pulsed around him. Casually, Dumbledore allowed his hand to drift ever closer to his wand. “Do you have any idea what they did to me?! Do you have any idea what my childhood was like? Do you have any idea-“

“As a matter of fact, I have at least vague assumptions on the matter.” Dumbledore said calmly. “Harry, please calm down or I will have to stun you; this is, I am afraid to say, not a matter I am willing to budge on.”

“You have no idea-“

“No, in truth I do not. However, I will insure that there are measures in place this summer to make sure that Petunia and her husband do not repeat the sins of the past.” Dumbledore’s eyes were rather watery as he looked at Harry. “I am sorry, my boy, but there are matters you do not understand. There are powerful wards protecting Privet Drive forged directly from the power of your mother’s sacrifice. If you do not return there in the summers, the wards will crumble. If Lady Voldemort is to return, it is essential that Charlus has Privet Drive as a backup-“

“So you’d throw me to the wolves to protect your golden boy?”

Dumbledore did not waver. “It is not merely about Charlus, Harry. If Charlus falls, our hopes of finishing Lady Voldemort once and for all diminish greatly. I am sorry, Harry, but the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, and you have my most sincere promise that I will ensure nothing like what has happened in the past takes place this summer. I am sorry, my boy, but it is for the Greater Good.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I must be off to the Feast. If you do not wish to attend in light of this rather nasty surprise, I do of course understand.” Dumbledore was almost to the door when he paused and turned. “And Harry, please do not try and flee the property this summer. I will know if you leave.” And with that bombshell, Dumbledore was gone. 

**June 20th 1992.  
The Hogwarts Express.  
6:25 PM.**

Harry had spent much of his last nearly two weeks at Hogwarts in a state of near depression. He had not found it in himself to care about the wards, nor the fact that Slytherin had lost the house cup to Gryffindor as a result of Dumbledore giving out a ridiculous number of points to Charlus, Ron, Hermione and Neville while completely failing to mention Harry. He had not managed to care, either, that his relationship with his brother had completely fallen apart as the boy now glared hatefully at Harry any time they saw each other.

Daphne had cornered him two nights after the fiasco and made him spill what was on his mind. When she had been told, she was downright murderous and near tearful with fury. She had offered to house him for the summer without hesitation, as had Blaise and Tracey once Daphne had told them, but Harry had turned all of them down. He did not want to know what would happen to them if the most powerful wizard in the world realized Harry was living with them. His list of friends was not exactly long. Dumbledore would know it was one of those three, and it wouldn’t be difficult to have James formally accuse each family in turn to justify a search of each property. No, there was no way around it. 

He could tell as well that his three friends had practically been dying to ask him what had gone on the night he had disappeared. Still, all three of them had the sense not to once the revelations about his summer arrangements had come to light.

Now, the Hogwarts Express was pulling into King’s Cross Station. Harry had not participated in any of the games his friends had. He had been completely quiet for the entire ride. For the last hour, however, he had grudgingly allowed Daphne to maintain a vice like grip on his hand. Not that she had given him much of a choice. 

The compartment door chose that moment to slide open as Ron’s older brother, Percy Weasley stepped in. “End of year grades.” he said, passing them each their file. “Please be aware that we are arriving in London.” and he left. 

Daphne let go of Harry’s hand long enough for him to read his grades, which were the first thing all day that had managed to hold his attention.

_Dear Mr. Potter,  
We thank you for your dedication this year and would like to sincerely congratulate you on all of your achievements. The entirety of the Hogwarts staff is eager to see what shall come next._

_Yours truly,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress._

On the next piece of parchment, the truth was held.

_Passing Grades:  
O = Outstanding.  
E = Exceeds Expectations.  
A = Acceptable._

_Failing Grades:  
P = Poor.  
D = Dreadful.  
T = Troll._

_Harry James Potter Has Achieved:_

_Astronomy - O-._

_Charms - O+._

_Defense Against The Dark Arts - O+._

_Herbology - O._

_History of Magic - O._

_Potions - O._

_Transfiguration - O+._

_End of Year Rankings:_

_Astronomy:_

_1 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor.  
2 - Patil, Padma - Ravenclaw.  
3 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin.  
4 - Patil, Parvati - Gryffindor.  
5 - Zabini, Blaise - Slytherin._

_Charms:_

_1 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin.  
2 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor.  
3 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin.  
4 - Patil, Padma - Ravenclaw.  
5 - Potter, Charlus - Gryffindor. _

_Defense Against The Dark Arts:_

_1 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin.  
2 - Potter, Charlus - Gryffindor.  
3 - Nott, Theodore - Slytherin.  
4 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin.  
5 - Zabini, Blaise - Slytherin._

_Herbology:_

_1 - Longbottom, Neville - Gryffindor.  
2 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin.  
3 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor.  
4 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin.  
5 - Davis, Tracey - Slytherin._

_History of Magic:_

_1 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor.  
2 - Parkinson, Pansy - Slytherin.  
3 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin.  
4 - Li, Su - Ravenclaw.  
5 - Zabini, Blaise - Slytherin._

_Potions:_

_1 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin.  
2 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin.  
3 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor.  
4 - Malfoy, Draco - Slytherin.  
5 - Davis, Tracey - Slytherin._

_Transfiguration:_

_1 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin.  
2 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin.  
3 - Potter, Charlus - Gryffindor.  
4 - Nott, Theodore - Slytherin.  
5 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor._

_Overall:  
1 - Potter, Harry - Slytherin.  
2 - Granger, Hermione - Gryffindor  
3 - Greengrass, Daphne - Slytherin.  
4 - Patil, Padma - Ravenclaw.  
5 - Nott, Theodore - Slytherin._

“I did it.” Harry said, a small bubble of happiness breaking through his wall of oppressive despair.

“Did what?” Blaise asked, scanning the rankings with raised eyebrows.

“I tied the record for most O+’s ever for a first year.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Tracey, looking at Harry with pure adoration. “What subjects?”

“Charms, Defense Against The Dark Arts and Transfiguration.”

Blaise whistled. “I’ve never heard of anyone getting three, let alone in first year. That’s impressive.” he sneered at Daphne. “You managed it in Potions, I presume?”

“Yes.” she answered curtly, glancing at Harry’s marks with a roll of her eyes. “You got an O in History? You don’t even come to History?”

Harry cracked a weak smile in spite of himself. “This brilliant brain, remember?” he asked, referencing her statement from all the way back in September. 

She snorted. “I had forgotten I ever said that.”

“I didn’t.”

In spite of themselves, all of Harry’s friends were in stitches laughing, even him.

**#4 Privet Drive.  
Two Hours Later.**

After a miserable Harry Potter, back at Privet Drive for the summer, had unpacked his trunk, he found that something was giving off an odd, bluish light. For a second, he thought it was the parchment connected to his brother’s but it wasn’t. It was, to his great shock and worry, the book that Voldemort had given him while disguised as Hurst.

Cautiously he opened it to the first page, where words were suddenly written.

_Hello Harry,  
I’m not exactly sure why the last Hogwarts Defense professor gave you this book but I have managed to get a hold of its connected partner when Hogwarts sold off all of the old Professor’s things for their charitable fund. I must confess, I find myself rather impressed with the connective enchantments and am rather pleased to speak with you._

_I have some friends rather close to Hogwarts, albeit I am currently not in Britain, though I did grow up there. I have heard some rumours about your rather outstanding accolades during your first year and I find myself most intrigued._

_If you have any questions, I have spent much of my life travelling far and wide learning the secrets of magic and I would love to help you on your way._

_Write back soon,  
Emily._

**June 20th 1992.**  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
The Headmaster’s Office.  
9:00 PM. 

Albus sighed as he looked up from his work and gazed at the clock. Young Harry Potter would be back at the mercy of his relatives by this point and in spite of himself, Albus had spent much time thinking of the boy over the past week and a half.

James had been rather against the idea of sending Harry back; not even the blood wards had been enough to convince him. Albus had been given little choice but to reveal yet another snippet of the prophecy. 

James had been rightfully furious to know that Albus had only told him the first stanza of it over ten years ago, but he had quickly seen reason upon hearing the third stanza, even if Albus had still kept most of the prophecy to himself. Of course, James did not know that, but he now knew the danger of keeping the Potter twins together now that their relationship was so strained. According to the third stanza of Sybil Trelawney’s Great Prophecy, that mistake could start the beginning of the end. 

_“Only when the twins’ bond is broken by the cruelty of betrayal will The Eternal War come to pass, and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. As The Eternal War nears its crescendo, darkness shall suppress all light and only when the fabric of Death is torn to the wayside shall The Saviour make his final stand.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **And on that absolute bombshell, year 1 is in the books!**
> 
> **I apologize for the cliffhanger of all cliffhangers, but again, it’s only because I love you guys :)**
> 
> **Before this turns into a thank you letter as I’m sure it will, I would like to touch on one thing very quickly.**
> 
> **I am sure people will dislike Harry going after Charlus. I did try and make this clear in the chapter but I will lay it out in very simple terms here.**
> 
> **A, Harry was not going off looking for a confrontation with the agent of Voldemort, he simply knew it was a possibility. His ideal scenario was to get to Charlus before he encountered Voldemort or her agent at all. Obviously, that did not happen, but if you’ve kept up with this story, you’ll know that Harry’s plans don’t always go to plan because he is eleven and far from perfect, unlike many Slytherin Harry stories I see.**
> 
> **And B, Harry is a Slytherin, but he is not the basic personification of a Slytherin. I see so many Slytherin Harry stories in which I swear the only traits he possesses are those of Slytherin house, which is completely ridiculous when you look at it from a sociological and psychological perspective. Aside from his advanced intellect and such, I am going for a semi realistic portrayal in terms of his character breakdown. His dominant traits most of the time are his Slytherin ones, but Harry definitely does have a bit of Gryffindor in him, even though he is loathed to admit it. This will be an ongoing theme as he will eventually have to internalize this and slowly temper it. There will come a point where it is practically non-existent but if I want to develop his character through the use of that characteristic, I must first establish that said characteristic exists in the first place.**
> 
> **Thank you all so much for the support on year 1! I know that I have said on a number of occasions that I am blown away, but it is true. Nearly 2k followers in less than four months is absolutely absurd! I honestly never expected this story to take off in the way that it has, so I am super appreciative for all of your guys’ support and reviews over this first year. Trust me when I say this is only the beginning and it only gets better from here! The further this story progresses, the less and less I will follow HP canon, so I truly cannot wait for the point where I pretty much scrap canon altogether.**
> 
> **Speaking of continuity, all seven books will be in a series on AO3. To all of you on AO3, thank you guys so much as well. This was my first ever story on AO3, so I was unsure of how it would go over with a new audience. The reception has been incredible, and I hope very much to see each and every single one of you in book 2: The Sacrifical Slytherin.**
> 
> **Please read and review.**
> 
> **PS: The first chapter of book 2 will be posted next Saturday, June 13th 2020 at approximately 3:00 PM EST.**


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